


XXX

by lucymonster



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M, pornstar AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never even crossed Renji’s mind that he was the kind of guy who could make a buck doing porn. But with a little prompting from his housemates, that's exactly what he finds himself doing. He's got the looks, he's got the talent, and he's got the respect of his co-stars - all but one.</p><p>Kuchiki Byakuya has never been easy to impress, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Debut

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse. This will be ongoing, so expect fairly regular updates for the next little while. A million thanks to Vorvayne for the endless patience and support, and for not even batting an eyelid when I announced out of the blue that I meant to turn Byakuya and Renji into pornstars. I'm pretty sure that's what real friendship looks like.

 

Thanks to his overzealous planning, Renji arrives at the studio exactly half an hour early. It’s pouring with rain but the fresh air is helping him keep his nerves under control, so he tucks himself away in a sheltered alcove and lights a cigarette, scanning the street for any signs of approaching company. There are plenty of people around, but hardly any of them have a glance to spare for the building Renji’s waiting outside of; those that do just wink and nudge each other, and some give him strange and slightly suspicious looks.

 

He’s gone through twenty-six minutes and almost half his pack before anyone besides him slows in front of the door.

 

The man is immaculately dressed, handsome in an aloof, haughty sort of way, a little older than Renji and a little shorter. His eyes linger on Renji as he stops at the threshold to shake out his umbrella, and a long moment of chilly silence passes before he says, “Are you loitering for a reason?” in a deep, imperious voice that sounds vaguely and untraceably familiar.

 

Is this guy going to be acting? Directing? Holding the camera? Renji isn’t sure what the proper etiquette is for introducing himself to someone who may or may not be ramming hard cock up his ass for the next several hours of their lives, so he stuffs his free hand awkwardly in his coat pocket and says, “Nah, I’m, ah...you know, working here.”

 

“I see.” Without bothering to introduce himself, the man fishes out his key card and swipes the door open, and over his shoulder he adds, “You should step inside. It’s foul weather to be out of doors.” Confident, now, that he’s not going to be the first person in the room, Renji stubs out his butt on the brick wall behind him and follows the stranger inside.

 

The blame for Renji’s presence in this particular studio today - or any studio on any day, really - lies squarely on the shoulders of Ayasegawa Yumichika. It had never once crossed Renji’s mind, as he stumbled straight out of high school into a series of low-wage menial jobs, that he was the kind of guy who could make a buck doing porn. Even after he met Yumichika and Ikkaku, porn was always something that Other Men did. But then his latest job at Hiroshi’s seedy laundromat had...fallen through, after an unfortunate misunderstanding with one of Hiroshi’s seedy customers that had left Renji with bruised knuckles and a pretty hefty repair bill for the shop’s front windows. That night Yumichika had come breezing into their shared apartment to find Renji hunched miserably over the computer frantically trying to polish his resume, and sighed sympathetically and said, “Bad day at work?”

 

“He hit me first,” Renji growled, not looking around. Polishing his resume was always a tough job, given that he didn’t exactly have anything impressive to put on it, and after this latest altercation there was no way Hiroshi would be giving him a decent reference. “I was just trying to make conversation, is all. Asked the guy how he’d gotten so much blood on his clothes, all nice and friendly...didn’t know he’d go ballistic on me.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Yumichika looked unimpressed, but he dropped his bag and wandered off into the kitchen without another word and the next thing Renji knew, a hot cup of tea was being placed down by his elbow.

 

“You know,” said Yumichika, “you’ve burned through an awful lot of jobs since you moved in here. How many is it now? Three or four, at least.”

 

Halfway through a mumbled thank-you for the tea, Renji switched instead to a resentful growl in the back of his throat. “Is that your idea of comfort? Because I appreciate the thought, but I can probably handle it by myself-”

 

“I’m not trying to comfort you,” Yumichika cut in crisply. “I could feel you radiating waves of self-pity from outside the front door - trust me, the last thing you need is extra sympathy.” Renji wanted to protest this, but he was aware that his ripped boxer shorts and oversized hoodie weren’t doing him any favours in projecting an image of dignified self-possession. “No, what you need is a talking-to. Ikkaku and I already covered half your rent last month and we don’t intend to make a habit of it. It’s high time you found yourself a job you can stick to, instead of punting yourself around from place to place and launching new job searches every other week.”

 

Renji could feel his temper rising before Yumichika even stopped speaking. “Thanks for that,” he said through gritted teeth. “Boy, do I feel motivated now. You done breathing down my neck? Because I’ve just found this great job ad for a part-time dish scrubber out at the twenty-four hour place on the highway - you remember, the one where Ikkaku picked up that case of food poisoning last month? - and I’d hate to see this one slip through my fingers.”

 

He was hoping the outburst would drive Yumichika off for a bit, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Clucking his tongue disapprovingly, Yumichika perched himself comfortably on the corner of Renji’s desk and peered at the computer screen. “I wouldn’t bother,” he said, indicating the last line Renji had just added to his resume. “No one in their right mind is going to take you for an _interior designer_.”

 

“They will if you back me up,” snapped Renji, already approaching the end of his patience. “I did that work for you guys last month, you can be my referees.”

 

There was that irritating clucking noise again. “We asked you to help move the sofa,” said Yumichika coolly. “Hardly a great feat of design innovation.”

 

“Look, if you’re just here to be unhelpful-”

 

“Actually,” said Yumichika, “I’m here to help you.” Renji shot him a disbelieving look, and he cleared his throat importantly and went on, “Ever since you lost that last job at the factory, I’ve been thinking about your employment situation. It’s becoming clear to me - and Ikkaku agrees with me on this, by the way - that you’re just not suited for the kinds of work environments you’re going into. They rub you all wrong. Make you tense and irritable, until eventually you snap and your temper spills out and you lose the position. They make absolutely no use of your innate skills or your natural advantages.”

 

Renji snorted. “Natural advantages? I dunno who you’ve been talking to, but I’m a bit short on natural advantages right now.”

 

“I say you’re not.” Yumichika was drawing himself up straighter, chin tilted up in an infuriating show of self-confidence. “You’re an attractive man, Renji. Not my type, obviously, but there’s no denying you’ve got charm...and muscle, which is probably more important.”

 

“And?”

 

“And,” said Yumichika triumphantly, “a man with looks like yours could go a long way in the adult film industry.”

 

These are the memories that are swimming through Renji’s head half an hour after his first meeting with the man who, as it now turns out, is indeed his designated co-star. The man who is currently bending him theatrically over a sturdy mahogany work desk, spreading his ass cheeks with firm, pinching hands while one of the cameras maneuvers in around them for a close-up. The man who still hasn’t bothered to introduce himself, although Renji knows his name now - saw it on the casting sheet, while the receptionist was rummaging behind the desk for a spare douching kit. Kuchiki Byakuya. It rings a faint bell, but now probably isn’t the time to start asking the guy if maybe they were at school together or something. Not when he can feel Byakuya’s cock rubbing languorously up and down the cleft of his ass, not while strong fingers are digging hard into his hips and his own erection is bobbing against the cool surface of the desk and the director is peering over their shoulders and saying, “Lines, kid!”

 

“Ah, right!” Renji yelps. Damn it, he knew he was forgetting something. It would’ve helped if they’d given him longer than ten minutes to look over the script before getting his clothes off. “Mmmm, Sensei,” he moans, tilting his hips up as suggestively as the restrictive angle will allow. “Please fuck me, Sensei. Please fuck me hard.”

 

As if anyone even talks like that during sex. Renji never expected it all to be this tacky...but then again, maybe it’s just his inexperience letting him down, because there’s nothing tacky about the hand that’s fisting in his hair, pulling his head back, and the low growl behind him as Byakuya leans forward and says, “Keep begging, slut.”

 

“Mmmm, oh, _please_ ,” Renji gasps, and the director claps his hands together approvingly and steps in and says, “Right, Kuchiki, we need your leg up here so the camera can get in around you for the next shot. Abarai, I want you writhing. He’s gonna hold you down and fuck you nice and slow, and you’re gonna struggle to grind back against him, got it?”

 

“Got it,” says Renji. And he has to grit his teeth a bit when he feels the head of Byakuya’s cock nudge inside, because _damn_ he’s still tense with all these people looking on, but luckily Byakuya has taken the director’s ‘slow’ very much to heart and by the time he’s all the way in, Renji’s had plenty of time to adjust. “ _God_ , Sensei, please fuck me,” he sobs, hands scrabbling against the desk for the benefit of the cameras.

 

This is nothing like any of Renji’s other experiences with public sex, most of which have involved copious amounts of alcohol. He can’t make up his mind if he’s kind of turned on or just cripplingly anxious, but _something_ is making his stomach churn like he’s working up to jump out of a moving plane. He grinds back against Byakuya, and his trouble earns him a tiny slap on his ass - really tiny, almost more like a caress, and Renji recognises the question for what it is and arches back into the contact with an encouraging moan. The second slap is harder - still nowhere near Renji’s limits, but the sound it makes is loud and very camera-friendly.

 

He thinks he might be starting to get the hang of this.

 

Renji’s experiences as a viewer of porn have led him to expect a pretty long time fucking, so he’s surprised how fast the scene actually goes by. The bit that gives him the most trouble is when he’s expected to suck - nerves have left his jaw pretty tense, and he’s never been great at deep-throating to begin with, and after Byakuya’s fourth pained flinch the director makes some quick alterations to his plans. Renji ends up riding Byakuya’s cock on the conspicuously placed office chair, embarrassed by his poor showing but telling himself, in his most reassuring inner voice, that all he needs is a bit more practice. And for all his aloofness Byakuya is very helpful - adjusting expertly for his every fumble, stroking his cock whenever the exertion starts to draw his blood elsewhere, supporting his weight with strong arms when he starts to wobble a bit on the chair. It feels almost _friendly_ , and as they approach the end of the scene Renji is starting to wonder if the frostiness from earlier was just him being paranoid. He seems like a decent guy - quiet, maybe, but overall pretty patient and supportive with Renji’s various mishaps. Except that every time they pause filming or break character, all that warmth switches off: Byakuya is cool and disinterested, keeping his eyes to himself and making only the barest perfunctory responses to Renji’s attempts at striking up a conversation. Renji doesn’t know what to make of it, so he stops trying to chat and just focuses on the job at hand. Stay hard, stay relaxed, try to look sexy.

 

The actual orgasm is a weird feeling. “I want a clear view for the money shot,” the director says, and apparently Byakuya knows exactly what that means - it means he pulls his hand away as soon as Renji starts to come, so that the camera can home in on a close-up of Renji’s pulsing but, by this point, totally unfeeling cock as he goes off. After that Renji is told to close his eyes so that Byakuya can come on his face, and when the last beads of semen have dripped down his chin it’s a wrap.  Byakuya gives him a curt, businesslike nod before heading off to the showers, and the director wanders off to confer with one of the cameramen, and Renji is left to scrounge a towel for himself and wish bitterly that he’d asked Yumichika for a bit more guidance on this part - is he supposed to stick around and make conversation, or does he just leave quietly as soon as he’s wiped off the last of the cum?

 

In the end he decides to just clean himself up, throw on his clothes and step outside for a cigarette, figuring that if anyone still wants him they’ll come grab him, and if nobody does then he’ll wander off quietly homewards. He makes for his cosy little alcove from before, but finds it already occupied: Byakuya is there leaning casually against the wall, immaculate again in expensive slacks and long dark grey trench, thumbs tapping quickly across the screen of his phone as he sends a text.

 

Renji can still feel the phantom burn of Byakuya’s cock buried deep inside him, which makes this an awful lot more awkward than it otherwise might be. “You mind?” he says, crowding in against the wall to avoid the rain and whipping out a cigarette.

 

“Go ahead,” says Byakuya, and doesn’t look up from his phone.

 

“D’you want one?” Renji goes on, determined to be friendly even if his new acquaintance is a bit on the taciturn side. They’ve just fucked each other raw, so surely it’s appropriate to at least share a cigarette before they go their separate ways.

 

But Byakuya only glances up momentarily from his phone, with a thin-lipped smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and waves away the proffered packet. “Thank you, I don’t smoke,” he says.

 

“Right.” Renji stuffs his pack back into his pocket, and feels a little bit of heat creep up his neck. Yumichika didn’t warn him how cripplingly awkward this would be. “You, uh, sure you don’t mind if I do, then?”

 

“Do as you like,” is all Byakuya says, and angles his phone away in a subtle but very clear signal that Renji should stop trying to talk to him.

 

And Renji wants to accommodate him, he really does. Only...well, he’s never been good with long silences. It used to get him into all kinds of trouble at school, and has lost him more than a couple of jobs in his time. Silence makes his skin crawl, makes words whirl around in his head knocking into each other until eventually some of them spill out his mouth, and sometimes they’re just garbled nonsense and other times they’re painfully inappropriate enquiries like, “Hey, so who are you texting?”

 

This is the first time, Renji thinks, that Byakuya has looked up and actually met his eyes. He looks astonished, and more than a little annoyed, but he covers it almost immediately and bites back what looks like an irritable sigh. “My driver,” he says curtly.

 

“Your driver?” _God_ , if only Renji could sew his mouth shut, so that stupid shit like this wouldn’t keep pouring out whenever he gets nervous or uncomfortable. “Wow, you must be raking it in, huh, to have your own driver? Man, I don’t even have a car. I just catch the bus everywhere, or else walk. Bit of a drag on a rainy day like this, but hey, what can you do?”

 

“Indeed. How inconvenient for you.” Byakuya probably couldn’t look more indifferent if he tried, and Renji is saying that as someone who’s just gotten intimately acquainted with Byakuya’s acting skills.

 

"It's probably good for the exercise," Renji ploughs on, hating himself. "Keeps me active on days when I can't be bothered working out. Do you work out? You look like you work out. I mean, you're pretty fit, I..."

 

Behind the stony mask of Byakuya's face there's a trace of confusion now, and perhaps irritation, and Renji decides he has to jump ship now or he'll never get out of this intact.

 

"I'm late for my bus!" he yelps in a voice that clatters like cymbals. "Gotta run now, I'm so sorry - uh, it was really nice working with you! Say hi to your driver for me! Bye!"

 

"Safe travel," says Byakuya indifferently. But Renji is already bolting, feet flying across the pavement in unsteady leaps and bounds, and only when he's reached the shelter of the bus stop does he pull up and slump onto the bench and note, with a gloomy sigh, that all that unsatisfying sex has actually left him tense and kinda horny.

 

It's a good thing his embarrassment is taking the edge off.

 

-

 

Once home, Renji flings himself down on the couch and groans like a dying whale until two concerned heads finally come poking around the living room door.

 

“Is this a bad sign?” he hears Ikkaku say in a hushed voice. They inch closer, sock-feet padding across the polished floorboards until they’re right in front of Renji’s couch and he can see their ankles in the narrow sliver of his vision not smothered by cushions. Perhaps if he stays very still and keeps groaning, he’ll be able to sink down and disappear into them…

 

“So...how’d it go?” Yumichika asks, trying and failing to sound casual.

 

“Imf wrosh mmmphlhmm dfaftrrr,” says Renji, not bothering to lift his head. Next thing he knows it’s being lifted for him, as Ikkaku’s strong arms wrap around his shoulders and haul him into a sitting position, and Yumichika takes up a perch on the free side of the couch and gives Renji a look that says _like it or not, we are talking about this_. So Renji sighs miserably and shoves his tangled hair back out of his eyes and repeats, “It was a complete disaster.”

 

“Oh?” A look of fleeting alarm passes between Ikkaku and Yumichika, and Renji sees exactly where their minds are going and quickly sits up straighter before anything can get out of hand.

 

“Not like that, guys,” he reassures them. “It’s just…” He’s trying. He’s really trying. But he can feel the dying whale noises welling up in his throat again already, and his willpower holds for about three seconds longer before he flings back his head and howls, “It was just so _awkward_!”

 

His friends look enormously relieved, which as far as Renji’s concerned is grossly unfair of them. “Everyone’s a little awkward on their first go,” says Ikkaku. “Don’t beat yourself up if you made a mistake or two. You get used to it.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Renji wails. “I couldn’t shut up! It was like watching myself in slow motion, and all this stupid shit kept pouring out of my mouth and the guy was just _looking_ at me like I’d sprouted giant dick-antlers out the side of my head or something. Everyone could tell I was a total newbie and I kept forgetting my lines and they probably won’t even get any useable footage out of it, it was _so bad_.”

 

A gentle hand squeezes Renji’s arm, and he looks up plaintively into two faces torn between sympathy and amusement. “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as all that,” says Yumichika. “You’ve had a busy day, and you’re taking everything harder than you normally - oh shut up, Ikkaku,” he snaps, as Ikkaku lets out an undignified snort in the background. “I just mean that you’re probably overreacting. Who were you working with? As long as they knew what they were doing, a few minor slip-ups from you shouldn’t have impacted the quality of the scene too much.”

 

Renji’s pretty sure there’s an insult to extract from all that, but he’s too miserable to really care. “His name was Kuchiki Byakuya,” he says, “and he definitely knew what he was doing. Kept huffing and rolling his eyes every time I choked on his dick. God, he must have thought I was such an idiot…” He cuts himself off in his tracks as he realises that both Yumichika and Ikkaku’s mouths are hanging wide open. “Okay, what?”

 

“Did you say...Kuchiki Byakuya?” says Ikkaku, eyes popping in disbelief.

 

“Uh, yeah,” says Renji. “Not that he introduced himself or anything. He was kinda stand-offish, actually. Dunno how you can cram your whole cock up a guy’s ass without so much as shaking hands first, but apparently that’s how he rolls…”

 

“He’s...well, he’s like that.” Yumichika has recovered enough to speak again, but his eyes are still wide as saucers when he meets Renji’s gaze again. “Kuchiki Byakuya might as well be industry royalty,” he goes on, digging his fingers harder into Renji’s arm and clinging as though for dear life. “Everything he touches turns to gold. Renji, if you really just did a scene with him...well, let’s just say this is a promising start to your career. Give it a few weeks and every producer in this city will have seen your footage. I just can’t believe he agreed to work with someone so inexperienced.”

 

Ikkaku nods fervently. “If you got matched up with him, it means someone’s already noticed your potential,” he says. “Damn, wish I’d had a break like that when I first got into acting.” Catching Renji’s gloomy expression, he pats him roughly on the shoulder and adds, “Don’t feel bad if he gave you the cold shoulder, though. He’s like that with everyone. I once did this really intense double scene with him and this other friend of mine a few years back. Ran into him at a cafe a couple of weeks later, and he didn’t even spare me a second glance.”

 

“Actually, I think Renji’s seen the film you’re talking about,” chimes in Yumichika. “At the housewarming party when we first got this place, remember, Renji?”

 

“Uh…” Renji screws up his face and tries to remember. If there’s one thing he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to, it’s Yumichika and Ikkaku’s supremely casual attitude towards sharing their work - they seem to have no qualms at all about being viewed in flagrante by anyone who’ll sit still long enough to watch, and Renji sincerely hopes this isn’t a ubiquitous thing in the industry, because he thinks he’d _die_ of embarrassment if any of his friends saw the film he made today. Still, he vaguely remembers the scene they’re talking about: he’d been drunk at the time, and most of his attention had been on how uncomfortable the scene had looked for all three participants. Ikkaku, some guy with a buzzcut who’d been on bottom, and the dark-haired, elegant man who’d held buzzcut guy in place so that he and Ikkaku could drill into his ass together...

 

Huh. So he wasn’t wrong when he thought that Byakuya’s voice seemed familiar.

 

“Point is,” Ikkaku goes on, “you saw how close we worked together in that film. But afterwards - nothing. He didn’t want to stick around and chat, just breezed on out. It’s nothing personal, he’s just not a talkative guy.”

 

This isn’t making Renji feel a whole lot better. Say what they want, he remembers the way Byakuya looked at him out in that alcove, remembers the scorn in those chilly grey eyes. And hell, if the guy is really so important in the industry, that just makes it _worse_. What if they run into each other again? What if they have to fuck again? What if they’re scheduled to fuck, and Byakuya just gives him that look again and walks right out? What if Byakuya’s so mad about all the whole encounter that he complains to Renji’s agent until he strikes Renji off his books?

 

There’s nothing he can do about it now. It’s not as if he _needs_ this job, he tells himself firmly. If it all falls through he can just as easily go back to scraping around for odd jobs and casual shifts wherever he can find them, like he’s always done. It’s not like baring his ass to the camera was such a great gig anyway. It’s not as if he had any real talent for it, either. Maybe it’s for the best that his hopes get squashed early on, before he has time to get too invested.

 

“Let’s get you something to drink,” says Yumichika kindly. “You’ll feel better in the morning, I’m sure.” And Renji’s sceptical, but there’s nothing he can do but prop himself back up off his friends’ shoulders and down the beer Ikkaku brings him as though it’s the last beer he’ll ever taste. It’s no better in the morning, either, when he wakes up slightly hungover in an empty apartment. Yumichika and Ikkaku are both working, so Renji spends the day moping about in his boxer shorts, eating cereal straight from the box as he flicks dully through the channels on TV and tries to make-believe he’s not living up to every possible stereotype of the unemployed slob.

 

For the next few days, he can’t honestly say that anything improves.

 

But almost a week later, when he’s nearly given up hope of ever getting another gig, a call comes in on his phone that promptly shakes him out of his slump. He answers on the first ring, heart pounding in his chest when he hears the cool, professional voice of his new agent on the other end of the line. “I talked to the guys from that last shoot you did,” he says. “Apparently they were really impressed with your performance. They’ve got another job coming up next week, and they’d love to have you in for it. Can I tell them you’ll be there?”

 

Truth be told, Renji’s ego has always been pretty resilient. Crushed before by the awkward post-scene dynamic between himself and his first real colleague, this small but significant bit of praise now is enough to bring all his confidence surging back in one heady rush. They liked him! Of course they liked him. He was _hot_ that day. Even the director must’ve had a hard-on when he saw how well Renji could perform. Well, the guy’s in for a treat now - Renji _definitely_ has no competing priorities next week, and he totally knows what he’s doing this time. By the time he hangs up the phone, the excitement that’s been building inside him has reached fever pitch, and he lets it out in an enormous whoop - forgetting in his excitement that Yumichika, after a late night yesterday, is home and still trying to catch up on sleep. “Fuck, sorry!” he hollers at Yumichika’s door, and thinks he hears a faint, disgruntled huff in reply.

 

He doesn’t mind getting told off for it later, though. Because right now, Abarai Renji is on top of the world.

 


	2. A Hard Day's Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji settles into the porn industry, and starts making connections. Funny how those connections all seem to lead him back to Byakuya...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry about the chapter title. My only excuse is that I thought it was funny and Vorvayne didn't chuck me out a window when I suggested it, which is really all the encouragement I need.

It turns out there’s a lot more to porn than just fucking on camera.

 

Renji’s next few sets are a steep learning curve, and he picks up a lot of new things on the job - things that would never have occurred to him before he started working in the business, which he now commits to memory and, wherever applicable, practices in front of the mirror on his nights off. It doesn’t take him long at all to realise that the weirdest, most embarrassing and uncomfortable sex to have is often the sex that comes out best on camera. He gets used to bending over double with his ass high in the air, and spreading his legs farther than he ever knew they could spread, and holding himself in all kinds of ridiculous positions while his coworkers struggle to find enough balance and leverage to actually get their dicks inside him. He works with a bunch of different guys, all of him more experienced than him but not all of them as jaded as Byakuya, and once he gets used to the unique working environment - public nudity, strangers constantly peering critically into his asshole - he even starts to have a bit of fun on set.

 

There are a few other guys he hits it off with, like Hisagi Shuuhei, whose facial tattoos and penchant for leather jackets make him seem weirdly more approachable to Renji than the other, cleaner-cut guys he’s been working with. Kira Izuru is friend of Hisagi’s who doesn’t say much but always seems like he’s really listening to you, and through Kira, Renji meets Hinamori Momo - Kira’s steady girlfriend, and Renji’s first exposure to the realisation that dating within the industry is seen as actually pretty normal, and isn’t just some particular quirk of Yumichika and Ikkaku’s.

 

And it’s through Momo that he meets Matsumoto Rangiku, and it’s at that point that his life starts getting really turned upside down.

 

“ _Love_ the ink,” are the first words she ever says to him, when she sashays over on Momo’s arm at a bar just around the road from the studio that’s been giving Renji most of his work. She’s balancing a brimming mug of beer in her hand and a very precarious neckline, and she slides in easily beside him without waiting for an invitation and leans in to inspect the markings on his brow. “Did they hurt?”

 

 _Like a motherfucker_ is Renji’s most honest answer, but perhaps not the one most likely to impress this newcomer. Which, strangely enough, is something that matters a whole lot to him all of a sudden. “Didn’t feel a thing,” he lies instead, puffing out his chest a little and wondering what would happen if she tried to do the same in a dress that dangerously low-cut.

 

She doesn’t try, though, sadly. Just smirks and lowers her lashes and says, “Oh really? My, you must be very brave.”

 

“Renji, this is Rangiku,” says Hisagi, and all of a sudden the tone of his voice has changed: no longer brash and casual but deep, rich, and eerily reminiscent of the voice he likes to use on set. “I’m surprised you two haven’t met before - you’re both with the same agent, and all.”

 

“Are we?” Renji tries to look nonchalant, and fails quite miserably. “I guess he’s really been pushing me to focus on work with other guys.”  As a matter of fact Renji has had several offers for straight gigs, but he’s been finding that they just don’t pay as well as what he’s been doing. It’s hard not to be drawn to Rangiku, though, with her smug self-assurance and dangerous hourglass figure, and he’s not entirely sure whether he wants to work with her or just...follow her around, like an annoying little brother or something. She’s _everything_ a pornstar is supposed to be, and he’s pretty sure his eyes might be starting to bug out of his head.

 

“Hmph. He’s always hogging all the promising new talent.” Rangiku sounds genuinely disgruntled, though her smile remains charming. “I’ve heard of you you before though, Renji. I don’t mean to sound forward, but-” she lowers her lashes, smirking - “I’ve seen some of your work. You’ve been making quite the stir around here recently.”

 

This casual pronouncement is enough to shock Renji out of his star-struck daze, at least temporarily. “I...have?” he says, trying to figure out if the fact that she’s already seen him in action makes him feel embarrassed or kind of pleased.

 

“Oh yes,” says Rangiku cheerfully. “I’ve known actors who got less work in a year than you’ve had in the past couple of months.” Renji feels his cheeks reddening, and Rangiku smirks all the wider and places a comforting hand on his thigh. It doesn’t help. “I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t normally pay much attention to what you men do to each other on set, but you seem to have impressed a good friend of mine recently. A friend who’s never been easily impressed, I might add. That was enough to catch my attention.”

 

The combination of praise and close physical contact is making Renji’s ears burn. He thought he’d be immune to it after several months of fucking total strangers for money, but he’s not - attention still makes him feel awkward and flustered, and his attempts to formulate a dignified response come out as a squeaky, strangled “Really? Uh...thank you! That is, I mean, I’m sure I’m not really-”

 

Rangiku’s throaty chuckle cuts him off. “You’re cute,” she says. “If you can keep that gorgeous goofy smile off your face for an hour or two, this friend and I have got an opening in an upcoming film that I think you’d be perfect for. I’ll have to have a word with casting, see if they’ll consider calling you in!” With that, she leans in to give him a quick peck on the cheek and then saunters off again, casting a friendly wave back over her shoulder as she goes.

 

For a moment, the whole table falls silent.

 

“Well, fuck me,” says Hisagi, and knocks back the rest of his drink in one long swig. “Looks like you’ve got it made.”

 

“Sorry?” Renji is still staring at the spot Rangiku just vacated, trying desperately to convince his face that it’s not actually burning up. “What do you mean?”

 

“Weren’t you listening?” says Kira from across the table. “That was Rangiku. _Matsumoto_ Rangiku.” When Renji continues to look blank, he sighs and says, “Sorry. I forget how new you are sometimes.”

 

“Rangiku’s a legend around here,” says Hisagi knowledgeably, eyeing Renji over the rim of his mug. “She’s the best damn actor I’ve ever met, and she’s got every bigwig in the industry at her beck and call. If _she’s_ taking you under her wing...well, put it this way." He leans forward, lowering his mug to lock eyes intently with Renji. "One scene with her and you’ll never have to scrounge around for work again.”

 

-

 

Of all the filming locations Renji has ever worked in, this one is definitely the classiest. He wanders in through the towering glass doors of the hotel in wide-eyed awe, and tries not to cringe under the suspicious look the receptionist gives him. It’s fair enough that she’s concerned. He’s come dressed exactly as they told him to: tattoos on full display through the open neckline of his biker vest (acquired especially for the occasion), along with a pair of steel-capped boots (borrowed from Ikkaku) and tight-fitting leather pants (a relic from his brief and embarrassing punk phase back in high school, and tighter now than they used to be). Given the stir he caused on his way here, he kind of wishes he’d just brought the gear in a backpack and changed on arrival. But there’s no helping it now, so he just gives the receptionist the most reassuring smile he can manage (she blanches) and slinks off to find the guest lounge where he’s supposed to be meeting Rangiku before the shoot.

 

His efforts to avoid drawing further attention seem to be working, because when he enters the room to find both of his co-stars already there - sitting at a table in the corner, sipping from tall glasses of overpriced soda water and engrossed in a hushed conversation - neither of them look around. Which is good, because Renji instantly recognises Rangiku’s dark-haired companion, and for a good long moment he loses all control of his facial expression.

 

This, he can only assume, is the man whose recommendation got him here today. And it doesn’t make sense, it just doesn’t, because the last time Renji saw Kuchiki Byakuya still stands out in his memory as his most embarrassing moment in...well, at least a couple of months.

 

As he looks, on Rangiku tosses her head back and trills with laughter, and the sound of her voice carries across the empty lounge to where Renji stands unobserved. “Don’t be like that, Byakuya. Didn’t you say you thought he was gorgeous?”

 

Renji’s heart leaps into his throat; it doesn’t take a genius to realise who they’re talking about. “Gorgeous, but incompetent,” says Byakuya, and his velvety tone can’t quite mask the derision in his words. “He was completely gormless, needed constant prompting just to get his lines out. Besides-” Byakuya pauses, wincing delicately - “ _teeth_.”

 

“You said he had potential,” Rangiku insists, though Renji can barely hear what she’s saying any more; the blood is rushing to his face, and he wants nothing more than to sink right through the sparkling tiles beneath his feet. Gormless. _Gormless_. So maybe it wasn’t his greatest ever performance, but... _gormless_?

 

He’s not actually sure what the word means, but the inflection of Byakuya’s voice tells him it’s definitely an insult.

 

“Potential, certainly,” says Byakuya with an impatient wave of his hand. “But I prefer to work with people who have already reached their potential.”

 

Rangiku only laughs again, and takes another long sip of her drink. “Well, I think it’s good for you to get down off your high horse every once in a while. Remind yourself what it’s like to work with someone who isn’t as jaded as you and me. Anyway, he might surprise you - he’s been getting a lot more work since you last filmed with him.”

 

The conversation lapses into a relaxed, thoughtful silence. Renji can’t move. Humiliation has him rooted in place, and for a moment he thinks he might actually turn on his heel and just leave. There’s no way he can do this. No way he can just breeze onto the set and put on his usual performance now that he’s heard all that. But...god, Rangiku has vouched for him personally. He’s somehow wormed his way into a role alongside two of the biggest names in the industry, going by everything he’s heard, and if he backs out now...well, that’ll be his big chance gone. Renji has lived long enough with his own luck to know that this is a freak occurrence, a stunning departure from the way his life usually goes, and there’s no way the universe is ever giving him a second chance like this.

 

There’s only one thing for it. Slipping back out the door, he waits a moment to collect himself before plunging right back in - taking care to let his feet fall heavily, this time, so that they can hear his approach. Both turn around, and Rangiku’s face immediately breaks into a smile. “Renji,” she greets him warmly, and waves for him to join them. “About time. I thought you said you’d be here early!”

 

“Yeah, uh...bus ran late, sorry,” Renji stammers, and he takes his seat as quickly as possible, before he can do anything stupid like trip over his own feet.  “Hi,” he adds, glancing nervously at Byakuya and hoping like hell that his discomfort isn’t showing on his face.

 

“Hello,” says Byakuya, with a short nod.

 

If there’s any awkwardness in the room, Rangiku certainly isn’t aware of it - she stretches one arm lazily out over the back of her chair, and reaches for her drink with the other. “Well,” she says, “I’ve told Kai to come and get us when the team’s ready to go. Haven’t heard a peep from him yet, so we should be fine for a while longer. Love the outfit, by the way. You’ll be perfect.”

 

“Thanks,” says Renji, glancing down awkwardly at his exposed chest. “What exactly am I dressed as, by the way?” One day, he’s going to have to have a word with his agent about filling him in on the details of his films _before_ he arrives on set.

 

“You’re a hardened street criminal,” Byakuya answers, completely off-hand, like he’s commenting on the weather. “I’m a corrupt businessman, whoring out my nymphomaniac wife to you.”

 

“A _gorgeous_ hardened street criminal,” Rangiku adds, with a sly sideways glance at Byakuya. “Don’t be nervous, though, it’s a pretty laid-back scene. You just have to act all tough and manly-like, haul me around and fuck me for a while, then Byakuya will join in and we’ll all fuck a while longer and it’ll be a wrap!” She grins brightly, and a small part of Renji harks back wistfully to a time in his life when what she just described would have been the _opposite_ of laid-back. Byakuya just nods sedately, and his utter relaxation is making Renji feel even more like some squeamish amateur. He’s about to launch into a scene alongside two people who know exactly what they’re doing, who’ve been doing it for god knows how long, and at least one of them already thinks he’s pathetic. Once again, he finds himself wishing he could just sink into the floor and vanish from the predicament his excessive ambition has landed him in.

 

“Ahem...excuse me!” From the doorway one of the cameramen hails them - a small, weedy guy with the kind of tasteless moustache that makes Renji wonder whether he has porn-acting aspirations of his own. “Everything’s ready upstairs, if you’re ready to come up to the room.”

 

They’re ready. There’s no use stalling.

 

Renji gulps.

 

But a funny thing happens when they all step off the elevator and into the suite, where the bright studio lights are set up and waiting for them. Renji’s anxiety, his shame and his sense of inadequacy all start to melt away; rising up in their place is a new surge of determination that, since he’s here and he can’t get away, he might as well make the most of it. Make Rangiku’s vote of confidence mean something to the infuriatingly haughty man who has so readily written off Renji’s entire skill-set on the strength of one single, nerve-wracking encounter. _Gorgeous, but incompetent_...Renji is about to make damn sure Byakuya knows that only one of those words is applicable today. And, while he’s at it, that _gormless_ isn’t even on the table.

 

He’s always been told that his defiant streak is a failing, something that will inevitably lead him into trouble. And the fact that he’s dressed up like a goddamn outlaw certainly isn’t helping to temper his attitude. But today it’s his defiance that saves him, lets him look Byakuya in the eye once the cameras are rolling and Byakuya is leading his ‘wife’ over towards Renji like a well-trained pet and saying, “She likes it rough,” in a voice like spun silk.

 

 _Focus on the job_ , Renji tells himself, over and over inside his head. _Focus on the job, don’t worry what they’re thinking of you. What he’s thinking of you._ And he is _magnificent_ \- he throws everything he has into his performance, every memory he has of his hometown and the burly guys who prowled the streets there, and the rest is easy. Staying hard is easy. Playing off Rangiku’s all-too-convincing moans and screams of pleasure is easy. Fucking her is easy, and as they move together he thinks he can feel Byakuya’s eyes following him appreciatively. And not just because ‘look on appreciatively’ is in his script. ‘Jerk yourself off while you watch’ is also in the script, and it’s at the point when Byakuya’s eyes lock briefly with his that the adrenaline in Renji’s veins tips over, without warning, into something else entirely.

 

He stops thrusting only just in the nick of time.

 

“You okay back there?” Rangiku murmurs, but Renji’s been in the industry long enough now to have picked up more than a few tips from the various guys who’ve fucked him. Everyone has trouble holding back from time to time. Gritting his teeth against the fierce tug of his untimely impending orgasm, he pulls out and starts shifting them both around, trying to make his movements look rough and forceful without actually exerting any pressure. Rangiku catches on immediately and allows herself to be lowered backwards into his lap, and those few moments of reprieve are just enough that by the time she plunges back down on his cock, he’s back in control.

 

“Yeah, ride this cock,” he intones dutifully, and feels Rangiku’s playful pinch to his thigh even as she gives a dramatic moan of pleasure for the camera. As the cameraman homes his lens in happily between her legs, Renji scrunches his eyes closed and tries to tell himself that what just happened was a normal and inevitable biological reaction and nothing more. It’s just one of those things that guys in his line of work have to deal with sometimes, and it sure as hell had nothing to do with the smouldering look in Byakuya’s eyes as he stroked himself. Renji may be a little on the impulsive side at times, but even _he_ knows better than to start lusting after a coworker. Especially a snobby one who freezes him out off-set and calls him names he doesn’t understand.

 

“Alright, cut!” calls the director. Rangiku breaks off mid-moan and settles lazily back down onto Renji’s cock, looking expectantly at the director for her next cue. “This is great stuff, guys. Kuchiki, you ready to jump in?”

 

“Of course.” Byakuya’s voice is clipped and businesslike, and Renji wants to slap himself in the face for actually buying the whole lust-addled thing he was pulling five seconds ago. Damn, the man’s a good actor. Renji fidgets uncomfortably, and Rangiku tilts her head back around to peer at him with something like amusement in her eyes. He’s starting to feel uncomfortably like she can read his thoughts, and has to catch himself halfway through a mental recitation of a string of nonsense numbers - to throw her off his scent, of course - when Rangiku starts lifting herself up off him again.

 

“You want me in a new position?” she asks.

 

The director shakes his head. “Stay in Abarai’s lap for a bit,” he says. “Kuchiki, I want to film you stepping in, asking Abarai why he’s not fucking her ass yet. You’re taking some control back now, so I want you pushing them both around a bit.” And Renji is honestly starting to wonder if Byakuya ever shoots a scene that doesn’t involve him taking control, but there's no denying that he does it well. The moment the cameras start rolling his whole demeanour shifts, polite reserve giving way to something raw and predatory, something that makes Renji's heart skip a beat as their eyes lock.

 

"Are we...um...look," he mutters through clenched teeth, as his co-stars wriggle around into position above him. "I've never actually done a double penetration scene before, if that's what you guys are doing..."

 

Rangiku only giggles, but whatever teasing quip she may have planned is lost when Byakuya leans in, close enough to his ear to escape the reach of the microphones when he whispers, "Just lie back and let us set the rhythm. It's not difficult." Renji squirms back to fix him with a look of deep skepticism. "You're in good hands," Byakuya adds, the faintest trace of a smile playing about his lips.

 

And he's...not lying. Because what happens next is completely new, completely unexpected, and so embarrassingly unprofessional that Renji is fervently glad nobody else is paying enough attention to his reactions to pick it up. He starts to _enjoy_ himself - not in a 'this scene is going well' way, but a gritted-teeth, oh-god-am-I-even-going-to-last way that brings the colour flooding to his cheeks as Rangiku and Byakuya thrust and grind above him. They're incredible. They move in unison like they've been doing this all their lives, and everything is reduced to an impressionistic blur of sights and sounds and sensations. Rangiku's deep, throaty moans. The minute scrunching of Byakuya's eyes in concentration. The wet slap of skin, and the near-overwhelming friction of Rangiku's ass around Renji's cock. Byakuya wasn't kidding when he told Renji to just lie back - from the position he's in he could hardly move if he wanted to, and so there's no reprieve and nothing to distract him from the onslaught of feelings.

 

And somewhere above him, Rangiku's moans are starting to crescendo.

 

He holds out. He's a professional, damn it, and so he holds out. The rest of the scene requires minimal effort from Renji - all he has to do is stay hard (not difficult under the circumstances) and let the others do their thing. When he finally comes - on Rangiku's face, while she grins lasciviously up at him and lolls out her tongue - it's intense enough that he feels his knees start to give out, and has to sink back down onto the bed and pretend he's just out of breath until the others wander off for a shower.

 

“Knew we’d all make a good team,” is the first thing Rangiku says afterward, once she’s cleaned up and dragged Renji back down to the bar for a few post-work drinks. And Renji knows exactly how true it is - he’s already been clapped on the back by almost everyone involved in filming - but the elation has yet to sink in. He’s too busy watching the silhouette from outside the frosted glass doors as Byakuya phones for his car.

 

It’s impossible to tell, but he has the strangest feeling that Byakuya’s face is turned towards him.


	3. A Face from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renji bumps into an old friend, and makes a startling discovery.

Probably the weirdest new experience that Renji’s job has brought him so far is looking at his bank account one morning, after paying all his bills and setting aside his living expenses for the next fortnight, and realising that he still has money left over.

 

Not just pocket change. Not a few sad scrapings too small to be taken out at the ATM. Actual _money_. Renji never has spare money. Didn’t know spare money was a thing that was even possible for someone like him. Ikkaku and Yumichika don’t look at all surprised, when he runs whooping into the kitchen to tell them - “I told you you’d do well in porn,” says Yumichika - but Renji feels as though his whole life has been turned upside down.

 

So now he’s out on the town, because it’s his day off and he’s gotta do _something_ with all this spare cash. He’s never been through this part of the city before. He never dared. It’s nothing like his usual hangouts, where cigarette butts clog the gutters and the dilapidated shopfronts all boast giant ‘for sale’ posters printed out on neon-coloured backgrounds. Here the centre of the avenue is lined with well-manicured trees, and the shop windows are arranged with elegant, minimalistic displays. There’s not a megaphone or a gaudy welcome sign to be seen. Even the people he passes are beautiful, all fashionably dressed and oozing the sort of self-confidence that comes with having a lot of money in your pocket. Renji attracts more than a few weird looks, but he holds his head high as he window-shops his way down the street, buoyed up by the knowledge that he could walk into any one of these shops and afford...something, at least.

 

Thing is, though, he’s not sure he _wants_ anything. It’s all really nice, but the thought of actually dropping half his leftover paycheck on a couple of trendy luxuries makes him feel sort of panicked. In the end, he’s happy just to find a nice-looking cafe near a bubbling water feature at the end of the strip and order himself a fancy-looking coffee from the menu (he can’t pronounce the name, but they bring it out with ice cream and a fucking wafer biscuit on top, like a sundae). And it’s as he sits out here, enjoying the muted music of the water fountain and sipping his coffee, that the second weird thing of the day happens to him.

 

It comes in the form of a voice. A strikingly familiar voice, although at first he can’t place it. Ears pricking, he spins around in his chair to locate the speaker - a petite young woman, sitting just outside the cafe by the fountain, holding a small shopping bag in her lap and talking into her phone. She’s dressed in the sort of self-consciously edgy style that seems so popular in this area - a lacy floral dress paired with a black choke collar and what look like combat boots - but her face hasn’t changed, and it’s her face that Renji can’t stop staring at. He’s seen that face white and pale and frightened, when Renji’s foster home first took her in. He’s seen it grinning impishly down at him from high in the branches of the tallest tree in their shared schoolyard. It’s been years since the owner of that face was whisked out of the foster system by the long-lost family every kid there always dreamed would find them - seven years, not that Renji’s been counting - but there’s no mistaking her straggly hair, her heart-shaped face, her dewy violet eyes. And in his excitement, he completely forgets that it’s been so long. That she’s in the middle of a phone call. That he’s surrounded by other customers who’ll all look round disapprovingly at him when he leaps from his seat and yells out, “Rukia!”

 

She looks up instantly. Her eyes widen and, for a long moment, they just stare at each other. “I’m sorry, I have to go,” she says into the phone, then hangs up and comes walking over (ignoring the disapproving head-shakes from Renji’s annoyed fellow patrons) to stand beaming in front of him. “Renji! Abarai Renji, is that really you?”

 

There are a million thoughts swirling in his mind, a million things he’s always wished he could say to her. “Go,” he’d said back then, when she came to him with a pale face and told him what had happened - that her sister ( _sister!_ ) had tracked her down after years of searching, that she and her husband wanted to adopt Rukia and take her away to live with them. “Just think, Rukia - you’ll have a family! An actual family! I bet they’ll spoil you rotten. I’m so jealous!” And he’d gritted his teeth and watched her walk away, eyes blank and shoulders slumped, to face a bright new future without him. _I’ll miss you_ , he’d wished he could tell her as soon as she left. _You’re the best friend I’ve got in this whole shitty place. You’re the_ only _friend I’ve got._ He could tell her that he’d written her letters every day for a year afterwards - never sent them, just kept them all stuffed in the back of his battered old maths textbook so nobody found them. Could tell her that he’d never stopped swiping extra chocolate bars for her when he lifted from the local store, then leaving them stashed in the hollow trunk of that old tree she used to climb for the other kids to find. Could tell her that no matter how long it’s been, he’s never forgotten her - there’s always been a bit of her voice stored away somewhere in his mind, laughing at all his dumb mistakes and calling him an idiot whenever he deserves it. Could tell her that he’s _missed_ her…

 

“It’s been a while, huh, Rukia. How come you haven’t gotten any taller?”

 

God _damn_ it.

 

But Rukia just laughs, and it’s the same ungraceful chortle he’s always remembered so fondly. “For the same reason you haven’t gotten any more tactful,” she says, rolling her eyes and, with a shifty glance towards the wait staff, hopping nimbly over the barrier around the cafe’s outdoor seating to join him at his table. The other patrons have mostly lost interest now, going back to their own conversations with a few last disapproving tuts. “What? You not going to shout a coffee for an old friend?”

 

“Uh...right!” Shaking his head to clear it, Renji waves down the waiter and sits back beaming while Rukia places her order. He still can’t quite believe that it’s actually her, that this isn’t just some weird hallucination brought on by the fancy coffee he’s having - given what it cost, it wouldn’t surprise him if they’d spiked it with something harder than caffeine. “So,” he says, once the waiter has left with Rukia’s order, “how are you? I mean, how’ve you been? You look really good...are you still living with your sister? How’s the family?”

 

The questions are tripping from his tongue almost faster than he can pronounce them, and Rukia laughs again and holds up a steadying hand. “Slow down,” she says. “I’m doing great. I’ve _been_ doing great. I got into university last year, studying law, and I’m on break right now.” She pauses, her smile turning a little plastic. “My sister actually passed away, not that long after she adopted me. But I’ve still got Nii-san, and he’s been really good to me.”

 

Renji feels colour flood his cheeks. Less than five minutes, and already he’s put his foot in it. “Shit, I’m really sorry-” he begins, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.

 

“Don’t be sorry, silly,” she says. “You asked, so I’m telling you. I don’t want you to feel bad about it or anything. To be honest, I didn’t even know her all that well.” Rukia perks up her smile a bit, and gives him a small one-armed shrug. “Anyway, like I said, I’ve still got Nii-san as family. I moved out once I finished school, but he helps with my rent and takes me out for dinner about once a week. It’s not perfect, but we’re happy.”

 

“Ah, I’m glad.” Renji settles a bit, blush ebbing away as he flashes Rukia an earnest smile. He always hoped she’d settle in with someone who’d take good care of her. It was the only thing that stopped him from going crazy missing her, when she first left. “So, uh...law! How’s that going? Can’t say I ever envisioned it, you studying law.” He catches himself only a split second later. “Not that I don’t think you’re smart enough for it! I’m sure you’re doing great, I mean, you always were very-”

 

Another peal of laughter cuts across his rambling. “You really haven’t changed, have you?” says Rukia, and somehow it sounds more like a compliment than an insult. Her eyes are very soft. “Relax, Renji. I’ve missed you.”

 

For a second, the words catch in Renji’s throat. “I’ve...missed you too,” he manages at last. “Always wondered how you were getting on. Meant to look you up, but I couldn’t remember what your new surname was.” His hand jumps awkwardly to the back of his neck, and he gives her an embarrassed little smile.

 

Rukia returns it. “I meant to look you up, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” she admits. The waiter is coming back, bearing some frothy, cream-topped confection that apparently counts as coffee around these parts, and conversation breaks off for a moment while she thanks hims. “Not that it makes much difference now,” she continues, “but in case you ever lose me again: it’s Kuchiki.”

 

And for the next several minutes, Renji’s world is reduced to a violent fit of coughing as his lungs try desperately to regurgitate the large amount of ice-cream slush he’s just inhaled.

 

“Fine...I’m fine…” he gasps, while Rukia looks on in undisguised alarm. “Just...swallowed the wrong...wrong way…”

 

“Renji, your face is turning purple!” he hears Rukia say, but right now he’s too busy to care about something as trivial as oxygen. Kuchiki. Of _course_ the name was fucking familiar. It was the name the came attached to that distant, mysterious, impossibly posh couple who’d spirited Rukia away from him all those years ago. The name she took when she went with them, and the name he’s been struggling to remember all these years every time he picks up the phone book. The name he completely failed to recognise when he saw it opposite his own, on the casting sheet of his first ever adult movie. Maybe Renji’s just a prude, but he’s not sure how to cope with the knowledge that he has starred in porn alongside his childhood best friend’s adoptive elder brother. Twice.

 

It’s also going to make life seriously awkward if she ever tries to introduce him to her family.

 

He becomes aware of a hand thumping him firmly on the back. “I’m fine,” he pants, a little more honestly this time. He’s remembering to breathe again, at least, though he still feels kind of dizzy. He picks himself up off the table where his head has come to rest, and realises that once again he’s at the centre of attention in the cafe - nearly every head is turned towards him, some annoyed, others concerned. A few hands are already reaching into pockets, ready to call for an ambulance. “I’m fine,” he repeats more loudly, for the benefit of his audience. “Just swallowed a bit of my biscuit wrong. I’m really sorry for the disturbance.”

 

The low buzz of concern dissipates into a few last whispers and suspicious looks, and then the drama is over and it’s just Rukia staring awkwardly across the table at Renji while he tries very, very hard not to blush.

 

“Are you really sure you’re-”

 

“Fine,” says Renji insistently. “God, will you quit looking at me like that already? I’ve embarrassed myself enough today. Maybe I should just head home, find a rock to hide under and try again tomorrow.”

 

Rukia laughs. “I’m glad you haven’t changed,” she mutters into her glass, and he gets the distinct feeling she’s only really speaking to herself. “Well,” she adds more loudly, “I won’t hold you up now. I’m supposed to be meeting someone, and she’s probably wondering why I’m not there already. But-” She breaks off, gives him a nervous little grin - “let’s meet up again soon, okay? There’s so much I want to talk to you about.”

 

“Yeah.” Renji can hardly get his head around how much catching-up they’ve got to do. They were barely more than kids last time they met, and now they’re adults leading whole separate lives of their own. What’s he going to tell her about the mess he made of his life since she left? What about the job he’s working now? What if they’ve both changed so much that they can’t get on any more?

 

These, he decides, are things he’ll worry about on the spot. For now they’re swapping numbers and parting ways, with an awkward, tentative hug, and as he walks away from her (and away from his route home, but he doesn’t want to make it awkward by following her once they’ve already said goodbye) all he feels is a bright glow of warm, dizzying excitement inside him. He’s got money in the bank and Rukia’s number on his phone, and it’s hard to imagine ever having felt sad or lonely or embarrassed in his life.

 

-

 

Having Rukia back in his life comes naturally to Renji. Maybe these last seven years have changed them both less than he thought, because everything that matters is still there - Rukia's sense of humour and her brash manner, her kind eyes, her mysterious immunity to all of Renji's awkwardness. He agonises over when to call her, what to say, but as usual she takes it out of his hands. "Tomorrow, same time, same place?" is all her first text says, and everything goes back to normal with a speed and ease that feels like fate.

 

He tells her he's an actor. It's not technically a lie, so he doesn't have to feel guilty, but he has no idea if Rukia knows about her brother's career or how judgemental she's likely to be. She tells him more about her studies and her campus life, and the bartending job she holds down part-time. "Actually," she tells him with a blush, "Nii-san pays pretty much all of my rent. And he's always happy to pitch in on everything else I need. But I've been trying to get on my own feet a bit more. He works so hard, and I hate seeing all his paychecks disappear on me."

 

"It looks like he's doing alright for you both," says Renji, casting an amused look over Rukia's ostentatious designer outfit. He's already figured that Byakuya must be making a lot of money, but having it put in such concrete terms - paying _two_ lots of rent and living expenses, when Renji is only just getting used to reliably making one lot - throws the extent of Byakuya's wealth into a new and terrifying light. Two pantries worth of groceries at a time? Renji still remembers the days when he had to sneakily swap around the price stickers on instant noodles at the local convenience store, just to be able to get food on the table. This is the kind of opulence that means a lot more to Renji than fancy clothes or a personal chauffeur.

 

When he thinks about it for too long, it scares him that things are going so well now. It takes him far too little time to get used to swinging by Rukia’s trendy inner-city apartment to pick her up for a night on the town, hanging out in places where the tables aren’t sticky and the bartenders aren’t stoned and nobody ever tries to glass him. The worst that ever happens is that sometimes he’s turned away at the door, but most places are happy just to take his money. It’s been a while since Renji had the money to go out much, and a while since he had the company to do it with. He has to remind himself not to get carried away, because he’s working harder than ever these days - he’s always got a shoot coming up, always dealing with new casting calls and contract offers. Sometimes he takes time off for a night out with the guys, and Hisagi thumps him on the back and says, “I told you you had it made, didn’t I?” But more often than not he spends his nights off with Rukia, and it’s worth every minute of shit he cops from his other friends for it.

 

“It’s not like that,” he says patiently, in response to yet another one of Ikkaku’s sly insinuations. “We’re just friends. We grew up together, and we’re reconnecting.” It’s not that he can’t see Ikkaku’s point. Maybe in another life, he and Rukia could have worked out - god only knows they’re compatible. But to be honest, Renji gets laid quite enough these days - almost more than he can keep up with just at work, so he shudders to think how tired he’d be if was out looking for sex on his downtime. Anyway, there’s another face that holds his mind’s eye, on the rare occasions he indulges himself outside of the studio, a face which makes the thought of sleazing onto Rukia all the more disturbing. A face he’d really like to forget about, because it’s unprofessional and _ridiculous_ to be carrying on the way he is. But it’s hard to forget when every moment he spends with Rukia reminds him of it.

 

Because he still hasn’t forgotten the way Byakuya looked at him when they last filmed together. Hasn’t forgotten the surge of pride when those grey eyes turned on him in undisguised approval, the thrill of those fleeting incidental touches while they worked together on Rangiku. The strange way all that chilly pride, that belittling manner, made his pulse quicken with something more than just embarrassment. Maybe Renji’s just a danger junkie. Maybe he’s out to sabotage himself, again, like he always does. But he can’t seem to shake the hope that one day he’ll cross paths with Byakuya again - outside of work, with all their clothes on, maybe on their way to visit Rukia or something - and they’ll exchange a few words, maybe go out for coffee, and he’ll impress Byakuya with something other than his ability to fuck.

 

It seems important, for reasons he’s trying his best not to think about.

 

The first part of his wish ends up coming true on a stiflingly hot Saturday afternoon, a few weeks after Renji first ran into Rukia at the cafe. Turns out her apartment complex has a _pool_ , and since it’s too hot to do much else, they’re getting ready to head out for a swim. Renji is lounging about her living room in his boardies, waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom where she’s changing, when a courteous knock sounds at the front door. “Mind getting that for me?” yells Rukia from the bathroom, and so Renji trots over to the door and throws it open without thinking to reach for a shirt - and promptly regrets it when he registers just who is on the threshold.

 

For a long, excruciatingly quiet moment, Byakuya only blinks at him. “Is this...a bad time?” he asks, eyes skimming down briefly to take in Renji’s less-than-modest state of dress.

 

“Uh…” Renji’s first impulse is to scramble for a shirt, but that would only make him look guilty. “Come in!” he yelps, a little too quickly, and jumps aside to let Byakuya through the door. “Rukia and I were just heading out for a swim...she’ll be out in a sec, she’s just getting decent. I mean, she was decent before, too, that’s why I’m waiting out here while she changes! You look kind of hot...I mean, it looks like it’s pretty hot outside, so, uh...why don’t I get you a cold drink?”

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” says Byakuya, and blinks again. Despite the heat, he’s dressed as sharply as ever in well-tailored black slacks and a button-down shirt, rolled casually up to his elbows. Renji finds his eyes drifting towards the narrow sliver of chest showing above the loosened top buttons, and makes a dive for the kitchen to cover his tracks.

 

“Not to worry, it’s no hassle!” he calls over his shoulder, rummaging through the fridge until he finds a jug of chilled water pushed towards the back. But where are the lemons? Byakuya looks like the kind of guy who expects a slice of lemon in his glass. And a straw too, probably, and some fancy ice-cubes. Then again, he doesn’t want to look like he’s too familiar with Rukia’s kitchen, not when Byakuya didn’t even know about their friendship until a few minutes ago and is still eyeing him suspiciously from just past the threshold. He must be wondering what the hell Renji is doing, half-naked and playing host to him in his sister’s apartment. He’s carrying some kind of garment bag draped over his arm - surely Byakuya doesn’t pick up Rukia’s laundry for her? - and looks like he’s about five seconds from demanding an explanation.

 

Fortunately, it only takes Rukia about four more seconds to emerge from the bathroom, a loose sundress thrown modestly over her swimsuit. “Nii-san, I wasn’t expecting you!” she says, and casts a guilty eye around at the mess she and Renji have been making. Empty coke cans, discarded chip packets, the rest of Renji’s scattered clothes...the place is nowhere near its usual room-service monitored standards. “I would have cleaned up.”

 

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Byakuya begins, but Rukia shakes her head vigorously.

 

“You’re never intruding, Nii-san! I’ve got someone I’d love to introduce you to. Renji!” His fate thus sealed, Renji pokes his head reluctantly around the corner, abandoning the jug of water and the small, shriveled lemon he managed to dig out of the crisper. “Nii-san, this is Renji. He and I were in foster care together, and met up again just recently. Renji, this is-”

 

“We’ve met before,” Renji blurts out automatically, and hates himself for it a split second later.

 

Rukia’s eyes widen, and she glances between the two of them with a brief expression of confusion. “You have?”

 

“Work,” says Byakuya easily, but casts Renji another very strange look. “I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.”

 

“Until a few weeks ago, we hadn’t seen each other in years,” says Renji, uncomfortably aware that it’s not actually him Byakuya is talking to. “Only connected your name to hers recently, but that was after the last time we...er, saw each other.”

 

“I see.” Byakuya still looks a little uncertain, but he manages to keep his usual composure flawlessly intact as he shrugs and says, “I won’t hold the two of you up. Rukia, I just need a quick word with you.”

 

Renji scrambles for the last bit of tact he still has. “I’m dying for a smoke,” he announces. “I’ll be out on the balcony...nice running into you!” He can’t bring himself to try for a handshake, and he nearly trips over his own feet trying to retrieve his pack from the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor, but when he makes it out onto the balcony even the stiflingly hot outdoor air is a welcome reprieve from the painful awkwardness inside.

 

He lights up, and tries to tell himself that he handled the situation pretty well, all things considered.

 

It only takes a couple of minutes before Rukia emerges onto the balcony, now holding Byakuya’s garment bag and waving away the smoke fumes good-naturedly. “Huh,” she says by way of opening. “You told me you were an actor!”

 

Renji realises he still doesn’t know whether Rukia is aware of what her brother does for a living, or whether she now thinks Renji is a secret stockbroker or something. “I, uh...I guess I did,” he says, taking a deep pull in a doomed effort to keep the rising blush from his face.

 

But Rukia just rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with working in the adult industry,” she says primly, with a conviction in her voice that makes Renji wonder if she’s had to defend her stance on this before. “It’s a good job, with a lot of good people doing it. You must be good at it too, if you’re working with Nii-san.”

 

Despite his cringing embarrassment, Renji can’t help but puff out his chest. “Course I’m good at it. You should see me...uh, no, scratch that, you really shouldn’t see me. But you can take my word for it.”

 

Rukia giggles. “Sounds good to me,” she says. Renji feels relief wash over him, and he lets out a deep breath and a puff of smoke that sends Rukia reeling away from him, nose wrinkled. He feels...better, now that she knows the truth, and at least he won’t have to awkwardly fudge any more questions about what roles he’s been auditioning for lately.

 

“What’s that?” he asks, pointing to the bag draped over Rukia’s arm, eager for a change of subject.

 

“This? It’s a new dress.” Unzipping the bag, she pulls out a very black, very formal garment that even Renji can tell is going to look unfashionably stuffy on her. He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look,” Rukia says. “This isn’t my usual taste, or Nii-san’s. It’s for a funeral.”

 

That puts an end to the witty comment poised on Renji’s tongue. “Oh...shit, sorry,” he says.

 

“It’s no big deal.” Rukia shrugs. “It’s just Nii-san’s grandmother. She’s...not my favourite person.” Her lips are very thin, and there’s steel in her eyes as she frowns at the dress. “If it wasn’t so important to Nii-san, I wouldn’t bother going.”

 

This drags a surprised blink from Renji. “Oh?” Given the harsh note in Rukia’s voice, he’s not sure whether he should be opening this particular can of worms today, but it’s hard to suppress his curiosity about any given aspect of Rukia’s - or Byakuya’s - life.

 

“It’s the whole family, really,” says Rukia curtly. “Haven’t had a kind word to say to Nii-san since he married my sister, from what I’ve heard. I’ve only met them once or twice, and I’ve never seen Nii-san paler than the last time they spoke.” She sighs, and rakes a hand back through her hair. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Nii-san’s family...they’re kind of old money, okay? And they don’t exactly approve of his lifestyle choices. This funeral’s going to be hell for him. I’ll be surprised if the rest of the family don’t forget to pay their respects because they’re all too busy pointing and whispering.”

 

Renji can do nothing but blink, again. He tries to imagine Byakuya as an outcast, a fringe-dweller at the total mercy of a cold, exclusionary family clique, but it’s not working no matter what scenario he conjures up in his mind. Byakuya’s presence dominates any room he walks into. There’s no _way_ anyone could be brash enough to point and whisper at a man like him.”Why’s he attending, if it’s like that? I mean, sounds like he didn’t get on with her to start with. Why not just stay home?”

 

“I don’t know.” Rukia heaves a quiet little sigh. “We don’t exactly talk about it, but...I think he’s always kind of taken the family’s rejection to heart. Whenever there’s a family drama, whenever any of them gives him the time of day - which is only ever when they need something, of course - he’s always right there. I think he’s trying to make it up to them for whatever disappointment they think he’s inflicted on them.” She tosses her head angrily. “It’s pointless, though. They’re never going to have a shred of respect for him, and it’s their loss. I just hope nobody tries to say anything rude at the funeral, because it’ll be hard to throw a proper punch in this stupid dress I’ll have to wear.”

 

Byakuya has never struck Renji as the sort to need anyone else’s protection, so he just snorts and takes another deep drag. He doesn’t really know what else to say, but luckily, Rukia seems to be pulling back from her temper a bit. “Sorry,” she says eventually. “Didn’t mean to lose my head at you - just wasn’t expecting news like this today. I guess it caught me a bit off-guard.” She shrugs, and pulls her lips back in a very deliberate smile. “Lose the cigarette, will you? It’s stinking hot out here in the sun. Weren’t we going swimming?”

 

“We were,” says Renji. and grins. He stubs out the cigarette and flicks it over the railing - Rukia doesn’t keep an ashtray out on her balcony - and follows her out to the pool, where they douse themselves in the pleasantly cool water and don’t talk about Rukia’s family for the rest of the day.


	4. Tsumaranai mono desu ga...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Renji's birthday. The party is kicking off, his gifts are vibrating quietly in a heap on the table, and as the liquor works its magic the gossip is starting to flow thick and fast. Happily for Renji, he and that gossip share a common interest: Kuchiki Byakuya, whose story is turning out to be not quite what Renji expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Tsumaranai mono desu ga' is a polite way of presenting a gift to someone, translating literally as 'this is a boring/trivial thing, but...' and showing the modesty of the giver. I...wouldn't recommend that anyone take this chapter as an actual example of appropriate usage of the phrase...
> 
> Regular reminder that Vorvayne is the glue holding this impulsive, scatterbrained fic together and I truly can't thank him enough!

With a bright smile of gratitude Renji accepts the proffered gift, and notes with an inward sigh that it is vibrating gently.

 

“Open it,” Momo urges, and Renji tears off the gaudy wrapping paper to reveal a large, violently purple dildo that seems to have turned itself on inside its box somehow. “Oops,” says Momo with a giggle, and Renji quickly pulls it out of its box and turns it off before adding it to the growing pile on the living room table. It’s an interesting collection: several dildoes (varying shapes and sizes), body paint, a set of floggers (ranging from small, ticklish strands of suede to long, stiff, brutal-looking leather), nipple clamps, and two little bottles of edible massage oil (caramel and strawberry, respectively). He’s starting to question the wisdom of inviting so many porn stars into his home all at once - nobody’s had more than two or three drinks yet, but already Kira is halfway to naked and Hisagi, who turns out to be a long-term friend of Yumichika’s, is off with him on the couch sharing stories of outrageous work exploits at the top of his lungs. Ikkaku has dug out his most obscenely shaped ice-cube trays for the occasion, and Rangiku (who is responsible for the floggers) has been hinting heavily that she’d be happy to show him how to use them as soon as they can find a willing test subject. Even Rukia has decided to mark the occasion with a gift of some kind of novelty bondage set - all fluffy restraints and heart-shaped paddles - and the only person who looks remotely embarrassed by the smutty display is the scowling orange-haired boy she dragged in on her arm about half an hour ago. His face has been bright red ever since he realised the ice-cube floating in his punch was shaped like a pair of breasts, and from the curious looks the rest of the guests keep shooting him, he’s the only one in the room apart from Rukia who they haven’t all slept with in either a professional or recreational capacity.

 

Renji has heard snippets from Rukia already about her new boyfriend, but from what little she’d told him he’d been imagining someone a bit...well, _older_ , maturity-wise, and a bit less flustered and prone to blushing. It’s actually kind of nice to have someone around who’s even more awkward than Renji is, though. Ichigo keeps glancing from the naked Kira to the scantily-clad Rangiku as though he doesn’t know where to look, and every so often his eyes drift over to the table piled high with sex toys and obscenely-shaped confections. “You guys sure don’t hold back,” he says quietly, when Renji strolls over to join him in the corner.

 

Rukia pats his arm. “I’m still training him,” she tells Renji, and ignores Ichigo’s half-hearted grumble of protest. “He’s got potential, though. Refill these for us, won’t you, Ichigo?”

 

“Ask nicely,” says Ichigo with a roll of his eyes, but accepts the empty glasses as if on impulse and slouches off to the punch bowl.

 

“Like I said,” says Rukia, with a tiny smirk. “Potential.”

 

“Yeah,” says Renji vaguely. Rukia has looked perfectly cheerful ever since she walked in the door, but he can’t help keeping a close eye on her, watching for any signs of distress beneath the untroubled exterior. She hadn’t told him his party would fall on the evening of her grandmother’s funeral until _after_ the RSVPs were all in already, and had point-blank refused to allow him to change the date. “I’ll need something to look forward to after all that misery,” she said, and shouted down all of his protests until he finally caved in. And in fairness, she really does seem fine. A little tired maybe, but as happy and bubbly as she always is. Probably the best thing to do is just act normal and not mention the funeral, let her have her fun and unwind, and if anything happened that she needs to talk about then it’s bound to come up later…

 

“How was the funeral?” he blurts out, a minute or so into their awkward silence, and hates himself for it a split second later.

 

But Rukia just quirks a brow at him. “Nice topic for a party,” she says. “It was fine, though, since you ask. Everyone behaved pretty well...by _that_ family’s standards, at least. I didn’t have to throw a single punch.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” says Renji, and forces himself to chuckle. “Is, ah...is your brother alright?” He hooks a thumb casually under his belt, and tries to look like it’s just a throwaway question.

 

Rukia shrugs. “It’s hard to tell, but I think he’s fine. As family gatherings go, this one was pretty friendly. Mostly I think he’s just glad it’s all over.”

 

Renji would like to press for more information - he’s glad Byakuya is doing okay, and is also kind of hoping to draw the conversation back to their awkward meeting in Rukia’s apartment, and whether Byakuya said anything about him afterwards - but they’re interrupted by Ichigo’s return with the drinks. Ichigo’s face is a brighter shade of red than ever, and when he looks over his shoulder Renji can see Rangiku laughing triumphantly in the background. “I’m starting to think you should ‘train’ me faster,” says Ichigo, glowering back at Rangiku. “You guys’ friends are weird.”

 

Rukia has that expression like she’s gearing up to say something mocking, so Renji decides it’s best to get out before he gets tangled up in their lovers’ tiff. Fortunately Yumichika and Hisagi are eyeing him intently from the couch, which gives him a good excuse to ruffle Rukia’s hair and clap Ichigo on the shoulder and excuse himself.

 

It’s funny how reticent Renji’s feeling tonight, surrounded by such energy and excitement. He knocks back several drinks in quick succession, and then several more, and wanders from group to group making vaguely inappropriate conversation and smiling broadly - but somehow, his heart’s not really in it. It’s not that he doesn’t love having his friends around. This is the nicest party he’s had in years - the only party he’s had in years, actually - but for once he finds he’s happier sitting back a bit from the others, keeping his distance, watching them laugh and play while he gets steadily tipsier on Yumichika’s famous spiked fruit punch. There are some things he decides it’s just better not to question: who thought bringing Twister was a good idea, how far Momo and Kira are planning on taking their make-out session, or what exactly is the point of playing truth-or-dare with a group of people who all view nudity and public sex acts as a normal, healthy part of any friendship. When there’s finally a lull in general activity and everyone seems occupied he slips out, finding he needs some quiet and fresh air, wanting more than anything to be alone with his thoughts.

 

It’s quiet up on the roof. Renji leans back against the safety wall and lights a cigarette, eyes absently following the thin plumes of smoke that rise up to blend in with the greater city smog. He can hear the steady sounds of traffic down on the street, can hear the faint wail of sirens in the distance - but mostly he can hear the clumsy, unsteady click of high heels on the concrete of the roof, and turns around to see Rangiku tripping her way over towards him, halfway to wasted and visibly less coordinated for it. “Mind if I join you?” she asks, and without waiting for an answer she sinks down beside him and plucks the cigarette from his fingers. “Thanks. I don’t usually do this, you know. Only at parties.”

 

“Ah...okay.” Renji shrugs and lights himself another one. Wanting company wasn’t really the reason he came up on the roof, but he finds he doesn’t mind when it’s Rangiku - especially not when she leans over and nestles her head against his shoulder, rolling her untouched cigarette around between her fingers, watching the ash crumble with a sort of detached interest. For several long moments, there’s no conversation between them.

 

“Nice party,” says Rangiku eventually. “I never knew you were friends with Kuchiki Rukia. Don’t tell me Byakuya’s been introducing you to his family?”

 

Renji is glad that the darkness hides the rising flush on his cheeks. Even as drunk as she is, there’s something sly and far too knowing in Rangiku’s voice, something that manages to make her implied meaning seem far less ridiculous than in fact it is. “No! God no. I mean...I’ve filmed with him a couple of times now, but that’s it. Why would he be introducing me to his family?” Belatedly, it occurs to Renji that rambling defensiveness probably isn’t his best tack if he wants to look innocent. “Rukia and I used to share a foster home,” he adds quickly. “Back before her sister took her in. We just started hanging out again recently...kinda by coincidence, actually.”

 

Rangiku giggles. “Oh, I see. Well, just you make sure you treat her right. She’s a good kid. I always liked her.” She yawns hugely, and takes a single drag from her cigarette before flicking the rest of it over the edge of the building. “Reminds me of her sister, to tell you the truth. Same looks. Same sense of humour. Same face she makes when she wants something.”

 

“Did you know Rukia’s sister?” asks Renji, curiosity flaring up instantly, though he tries to hide it behind an air of casual indifference.

 

“We were friends.” Rangiku tilts her head up to meet Renji’s gaze, her eyes bleary and her face saturated with the kind of painful openness that, in Renji’s experience, usually precipitates one hell of a hangover. “We met through work, and I...I liked her a lot, you know. She was always so quiet and serious, but when you got her laughing…” Chuckling low in her throat, Rangiku shifts back off Renji’s shoulder and props herself up lopsidedly against the wall. “Hand me another cigarette, will you? All this talking is killing my buzz.”

 

“You didn’t even smoke the last one,” Renji protests, but her face drops into a heavy pout and so, sighing, he fishes for his pack and hands another over. This one she lights and puts to her lips almost at once, and smiles blissfully like she’s been craving for hours.

 

“When you got her laughing,” Rangiku goes on, as if she’d never broken off, “everyone in the room would join in. You just couldn’t help yourself. And she could make a friend out of anyone, just by smiling and being herself. I don’t think I ever met a single person who didn’t like her. Yeah, sometimes I really miss Hisana.”

 

This is already getting way deeper than Renji expected. He’s starting to wonder if he should break it off before it gets too intense - is Rangiku a depressive drunk? - but when she catches his expression she smiles reassuringly, and gives him a small shrug. “Don’t look at me like that. I got on with my life. That’s all you can do, really...well, unless you’re Byakuya. But I can’t exactly blame him.”

 

“Guess he must’ve taken it pretty hard,” Renji says. He should really back off, but talking about Byakuya is like scratching an itch he’s had since the day he realised he was attracted. And it’s not like he’s going to hear any of this from the man himself - Byakuya is still such a mystery that Rangiku’s drunken reminiscences are probably the closest insight he’s ever going to get.

 

And Rangiku definitely seems to be enjoying herself now. She’s managed to get herself sitting _almost_ straight, with her shoulders drawn back importantly like she’s telling a very important story. “He’s been different ever since the day he lost her,” she says sombrely. “What you have to understand is that Byakuya gave up everything for Hisana. I don’t know how much you’ve heard about his family, but they’re probably one of the oldest and wealthiest in Japan. He had it made from the moment he was born. But they’re all very conservative, of course...a lot of expectations to live up to, coming from a family like that. If his parents weren’t shocked when he started running around with a pornstar, they must have been _stunned_ by the time he announced he was going to marry her.”

 

Renji chuckles, because she’s clearly expecting him to, but something about the story tugs at him in a strange, uncomfortable way. He can’t quite get the picture straight in his mind. A rebellious young Byakuya, head over heels in a forbidden love affair - it just doesn’t sit right alongside the image he carries in his head of a quiet, conservative man whose most pronounced emotional expressions are of irritation and contempt. It makes him wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’s not as far in over his head as he thinks he is - maybe Rangiku’s knowing smiles and none-too-subtle hints aren’t as out of line as he keeps telling himself.

 

Maybe there’s a part of Byakuya that isn’t, after all, completely out of Renji’s league. A softer part, a part that isn’t covered in the same armour as the rest of him, a part that Renji could reach out out to…

 

Or maybe he’s just had a bit more to drink than he realised. Because damn, he’s not usually this soppy.

 

“They gave him an ultimatum,” Rangiku says, oblivious to the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions tearing around Renji’s mind. “It was Hisana or his inheritance, and...well, I don’t need to tell you which one he picked. So all of a sudden he finds himself kicked out of his own home with no servants, no money, and a new wife who definitely can’t fuck enough guys in one day to support the kind of lifestyle he’s used to.” She giggles softly at her own quip. “Hisana suggested he’d be good in porn, and it turned out she was right. But I don’t think he ever got over the break with his family. Part of him always felt like he’d disgraced them.”

 

“He...he was at a funeral today,” Renji blurts, because by now there’s no use pretending he isn’t desperately invested in this topic of conversation. “Him and Rukia. His grandmother died. Rukia seemed pretty pleased about it, to tell the truth…”

 

Rangiku fixes her bleary gaze more closely on him. She seems to be running out of steam where she sits - her posture is beginning to slump, and there’s a distinct slur in her voice that wasn’t there when she first came up. “I’d be pleased about it too,” she says. “He’s had nothing but hell from that family. It was...it was _pathetic_ , Renji. How hard he always tried to please them, even after they’d tossed him away. It wasn’t about money - he was making a fortune, even back then. But he’d have done anything to win them back - anything except leave Hisana, which was the only thing they wanted from him.”

 

She sounds so fierce that Renji isn’t sure what to think any more. “It seems like you care a lot about him,” he ventures, but finds that the statement only serves to calm Rangiku down - she shakes her head as if to clear it, and shrugs.

 

“Nah, I’m just...just a bit drunk, I guess. Byakuya’s a decent guy, but I never clicked with him like I did with Hisana. It was fun fooling around with both of them, but he and I, we’d never have bothered if it was just each other. We haven’t seen that much of each other since she passed. Hey, Renji - do you think we should go visit him now? Pay our respects after the funeral?” She shifts where she sits, as if readying herself to jump to her feet and march right over to Byakuya’s home.

 

“I don’t think he’d be thrilled,” says Renji, shaking his head firmly. “It’s kinda late, and...well, like you said, you’re kinda drunk. We both are.”

 

“Aw...you’re no fun,” says Rangiku, but she settles down against the wall again and purses her lips thoughtfully. “You want to, though. You want to go visit him. I can tell.”

 

“Yeah...maybe.” Some of his wistfulness must be leaking into his tone and right through Rangiku’s drunken haze, because the next thing he knows is a gentle hand on his shoulder and a surprisingly earnest murmur in his ear.

 

“He wants to see you too, you know. He won’t admit it, but I can tell. In all the years I’ve known him he has _never_ told me he thought a co-star was attractive. So I can tell he wants to see you.”

 

The party has quietened down by the time Renji heads back downstairs. Momo, Kira, Hisagi and Kira have all wandered off to the bedroom - he can hear thumping and giggling coming from behind the door, and hopes they’re not disturbing the downstairs neighbours with it. Ichigo is passed out on the Twister mat, and Rukia is napping on the couch. Yumichika is the only one who still looks fully alert - he’s tidying up, and when Renji enters the room he’s quick to put down his stack of used glasses and help drape Rangiku’s other arm over his shoulder. They deposit her on the couch next to Rukia, where she mumbles a bit before happily nestling her head on the armrest and dozing off with a smile on her face. Renji briefly tries to help with the tidying, but Yumichika waves him off - “It’s your birthday,” he says primly, “and if you’re done partying then you should go and get some rest.”

 

Sleep takes a while to come, though, despite how tipsy Renji still is when he finally lies down. There’s too much still going on inside his mind, as he turns Rangiku’s words over and over in his mind to triple-check he didn’t miss any hidden nuances of meaning.

 

-

 

Renji has just finished changing into his leathers (he’s learned his lesson since last time) when Byakuya arrives on set. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he says, casting what he hopes is a winsome smile over his shoulder as he eases his hair down out of its ponytail.

 

Byakuya just blinks perplexedly at him. “I fail to see why. Our work together so far has been reasonably successful, and the pay is more than adequate.”

 

“I was...joking…” says Renji weakly, but Byakuya is already cutting a brisk path through the gaggle of crewmen to go and check in with the director. Foiled in his efforts to get the two of them off to a friendly start, Renji heaves a quiet sigh and slouches off towards makeup. Already he’s starting to question his optimism from when he looked in the mirror this morning on his way out the door and thought, _this is the day. This is your day to get his attention._ He may be armed with new knowledge, but his flirtation skills are as old and as rusty as ever - and Byakuya is still Byakuya, which means it’s going to take more than a couple of feeble jokes to defrost him.

 

‘Taming the Beast’ is the theme of today’s erotic masterpiece. Renji can tell it’s supposed to be a masterpiece because there are twice as many people on set as he’s used to, and the script is at least fifty percent less tacky than the usual fare. As far as Renji’s concerned there’s nothing desperately artistic about getting fucked while pretending to be a hardened street thug, but maybe the art is supposed to get added in later, with lighting and camera angles and mood music or whatever.

 

He’s halfway through trying to figure out what could possibly count as ‘mood music’ for the scene they’re about to perform when the makeup artist declares him ready. Heart rising in his throat, Renji swallows and heads over to where Byakuya is once again in deep conversation with the director, already immaculately groomed and dressed, and already way more attractive than he has any right to be when the cameras aren’t rolling. There’s absolutely nothing to be nervous about, Renji reminds himself. They’ve done this before, and _nothing_ has changed since the last time. Nothing except the fact that Renji now realises just how badly he wants to impress Byakuya, and not just to avoid getting called ‘gormless’ again. He wants Byakuya to _like_ him, and he’s fully aware of the irony in hoping that enough raunchy, animalistic sex might eventually win him a first date.

 

But something weird is happening as Renji draws near enough to hear the conversation that’s unfolding. “He’s being under-utilised,” Byakuya is saying to the director, as the two of them comb thoughtfully over the scene outline. “A growling plaything, limp and pliant in the arms of his captor? He’s got far more potential in him than that.”

 

“Do you have a suggestion to make, Kuchiki?” Even from here Renji can tell that the director is trying to sound testy, but it’s not working - he either really trusts Byakuya’s judgement or really doesn’t trust the current script, because his ears are pricked and his expression is intent.

 

“I do.” From the tone of his voice, Byakuya is well aware of the rapt attention his words command. “Allow us a bit of room to work. Give him some more assertiveness, a more active role in the scene.”

 

The director gives Byakuya a very strange look. “Kuchiki,” he says, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that our audience expects to see you in control. That’s what they’re paying for. If you’re looking for a more _egalitarian_ position-”

 

“Director, you misunderstand me,’ says Byakuya calmly. “I intend to give you exactly what the audience will be expecting. But quite frankly, I am capable of doing so whether or not you trap Renji for me with this ridiculous script.” The director bristles at this, but Byakuya holds his gaze until he cedes the point with a shrug. “What the script lacks is any illusion of spontaneity,” Byakuya continues. “Please consider loosening your hold, and allowing the two of us to compensate for that. I promise what we’ll give you will be far more authentic and believable.”

 

There’s silence as the director considers this. Renji holds his breath and stuffs his hands into his pockets, and tries not to look as if he’s eavesdropping. “Well,” says the director at last, “you’re not wrong - the script is completely wooden. Whoever wrote it, I’m probably paying them way too much.” He sighs. “Alright, then, I trust you. As long as you stick to the basic premise you can do what you like. I’ll have a fresh copy of the script standing by if you screw it up. But Kuchiki - I haven’t got all day, alright? I’d rather not have to do a retake.”

 

“Understood.” With a polite dip of his head Byakuya turns away and strides purposefully over to Renji, who quickly starts whistling and diverts his gaze up to the ceiling above him like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

 

“Oh, uh...hi again!” says Renji, when Byakuya is close enough that he can no longer pretend not to have noticed his approach. “We ready to start shooting?”

 

“I’ve been talking to the director,” says Byakuya without preamble. “He feels that the script you’ve been given is too constrictive, and we’ve agreed to set aside the specifics of it in favour of a more natural approach. Do you feel comfortable improvising?”

 

It’s scary how shaky Renji feels when those grey eyes fix on him with no scorn, no pretensions of indifference. He remembers what Rangiku said and he _knows_ , intuitively, that this is a test of some kind. Byakuya isn’t championing him to the director out of affection. He’s doing it because he knows he’s right - or, perhaps, because he’s hoping to be proven right. And if it’s the latter...well, Renji’s already decided that today is his day. “You bet!” he says, and reflects that this is probably the only chance he’ll ever have to impress Byakuya in earnest. “I love improvising. It’s my favourite hobby! Sometimes I even improvise by myself at home, just for practice-”

 

“Good,” says Byakuya, cutting across him without a flicker of remorse. “The director wants to get started soon, but let’s go over our intentions for the scene.”

 

“Good thinking!” Renji yelps. And there’s really not that much to discuss, because their plotline is far from complex. All it comes down to is a power struggle, a game Renji has played to lose on camera too many times to count - only this time, the rules have changed. The conclusion is foregone as always, but the journey...well, for once, the journey is actually in Renji’s hands. And he means to make the best of it.

 

“You know,” he hisses to Byakuya as they approach the set, their loose plan all laid out between them, “I think you might be underestimating me a bit. You sure you can take it if I go all out?”

 

Byakuya arches a scornful brow. “Of course,” he says coolly. “You may give the performance everything you have - you’ll find it harder than you imagine to take me by surprise.”

 

“Right.” Despite his nerves, despite all the clashing feelings that are churning in his gut, Renji feels a grin quirk his lips. There’s never going to be a better chance than the one he’s got now. “Tell you what, then,” he says, leaning in as close as he dares - which is maybe two or three centimetres closer before Byakuya’s cool gaze stops him in his tracks - “if you’re so confident, why not raise the stakes? If I manage to catch you off-guard while we’re filming - and we’re on the honour system, so you have to be honest about it - we’re going out for dinner tonight, your shout. How does that sound?” Byakuya just continues to blink at him, and he feels himself start to sweat as he hastily adds, “Um, because my pantry doesn’t have that much food in it, and I’m getting kinda sick of instant noodles-”

 

“Deal.”

  
Broken off mid-excuse, Renji’s mouth continues flapping for a few moments after her cuts off his voice. It was a stupid plan, and his delivery definitely lacked finesse, but there’s no trace of indecision in the grey eyes that hold his gaze, unwavering.


	5. Taming the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you manage to catch me off-guard," says Byakuya, "I will take you out for dinner."
> 
> One scene. One challenge. One chance for Renji to prove himself to Byakuya - and score himself a free meal into the bargain. But Byakuya has a competitive side of his own, and he's not about to back down without a struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since a couple of people have now offered up requests/suggestions in their reviews, I thought I'd take a moment to let everyone know that I'm really happy to have that kind of input! The main outcomes of this story are already planned and underway, but within the existing structure I'll definitely do my best to accommodate any particular scenes, kinks, or guest appearances you guys are eager to see.
> 
> Whether or not you're requesting, I'd also just like to say thanks to every single one of you for the continued feedback and support. XXX has a long way to go yet, but hearing back from you all as I write is so incredibly motivating. So thank you!

“Wh...what did you say?”

 

“It’s a deal,” Byakuya repeats, and gives Renji another one of those scornful looks that makes him feel inexplicably weak at the knees. “If you manage to catch me off-guard, I will take you out for dinner. I’m sure I don’t need to warn you that your chances of success are very slim.”

 

“Great!” Renji’s trying to play it cool, but he can feel a dopey grin already spreading across his face. “So, then, if I _don’t_ manage to surprise you, I guess I’ll be the one shouting you?”

 

Byakuya considers this. Renji watches those cool eyes sweep over him almost appraisingly, before coming back to meet Renji’s. His face is blank, but there’s something in his eyes - a glimmer of mischief, Renji fancies, or maybe even of interest. “If you fail to surprise me,” Byakuya says, “I will take myself out to dinner without you.”

 

Which is fair enough. Renji never expected this to be easy.

 

So he throws himself into it. Closes his eyes to ground himself before the cameras start rolling, takes several deep breaths, and launches into his performance with every bit of the passion and fervour he’s been holding in since he first laid eyes on Byakuya. The lead-in is nothing - he just makes it up, goes with the flow, until Byakuya starts guiding him back against the wall. He fists a hand in Byakuya’s hair and drags him down into a fierce kiss, teeth clashing, and Byakuya responds by slamming him backwards with theatrical force, an expertly-placed hand cushioning his head against impact with the wall. “I don’t bend over for anyone,” growls Renji at camera-friendly volume, and he likes this role much better than all the grovelling crap they had him doing in the script. Eager and defiant, horny as hell and spitting mad about it - that’s the character he’s going for today, and so he fights back like he believes he can actually gain the upper hand. He grinds up against Byakuya, grabbing his ass possessively to pull him in. Byakuya tugs him down, free hand going for his own belt, and Renji jerks his head away. “Fuck you,” he growls, trying to make his resistance sound sincere, trying to pretend he isn’t ready to drool all over Byakuya’s cock like the obedient pet he so often gets cast as.

 

Byakuya pinches his jaw to force it open and Renji yields a bit, parts his lips, grunts his false protest as Byakuya slides his cock into his mouth. Renji makes a show of struggling a bit longer before settling in, relaxing his tense body and allowing Byakuya to fuck his mouth, listening for the soft pants and hissed encouragements that trickle down from above him. If he closes his eyes and lets his mind drift, he can almost imagine that they’re real.

 

He’s biding his time. Byakuya has an excellent sense of pacing and very clear ideas about how long he wants each shot to last, and Renji’s happy to trust to that expertise for the time being. But when Byakuya pulls him back off his cock, he knows it’s time to start doing his thing - ‘taming the beast’ won’t mean much if the beast just rolls over and takes it. Before Byakuya can push him onto all fours he surges upwards, shoving Byakuya back against the wall, and the fluidity with which Byakuya follows the movement tells Renji it’s exactly what he expected. Still, Renji presses his pretend advantage. Catches Byakuya’s lips in another hungry kiss, presses in close and reaches a hand in between them to cup an erection still slick with his own saliva and wrap tight, punishing fingers around the stiff length. But it’s not enough. Byakuya is completely steady still, he’s _allowing_ himself to be beaten - only momentarily, only for the cameras - and when he starts to push back, Renji can see his chance slipping away from him. Byakuya is forcing him away, pushing him back down to his knees, and Renji moves on pure impulse. He grips Byakuya’s shoulders tight and throws his weight back, and the momentum brings them both crashing to the ground. Braced and ready for the impact, Renji comes out on top - fisting one hand tight in Byakuya’s hair, the other hand still pinning him down by the shoulder, he sinks his teeth into Byakuya’s exposed neck and grinds down hard against him. Over the violent pulsing of his heart he hears the faintest wisp of a sound not meant for the audience - a soft gasp, bitten off almost immediately, but unmistakably authentic. Surprise, pleasure, irritation - Renji can’t be sure, but he’s willing to bet that what he’s just heard counts as ‘caught off-guard’.

 

And he knows it beyond all doubt a second later, when he feels a faint tremble in the arms that wrap round his shoulders and roll them over til he’s pinned to the floor, all rebellion a distant memory.

 

Something has changed. Something beyond the notice of the crew, or the all-seeing eyes of the cameras. Because Byakuya’s hands are clumsier than usual as he pulls the last of Renji’s clothes off him - only barely, but enough that Renji’s sharp focus picks it up. Byakuya hauls him up onto his hands and knees and enters him all in one breathless, jerky motion, and Renji’s pleasured groan is only _mostly_ forced. He has won. “No more instant noodles for me tonight, huh?” he hisses, and Byakuya just huffs impatiently and keeps thrusting. But Renji’s not fooled. Something in what he just did has turned Byakuya on - _actually_ turned him on, beyond the purely mechanical arousal that lets him do his job. Maybe that’s why Byakuya’s breath keeps catching when Renji clenches down on his cock, why his hands on Renji’s skin can’t seem to stay in just one place.

 

“Stop that,” Byakuya hisses in his ear, as Renji rocks back and clenches hard around him. His voice is hoarse, thick with frustration.

 

“Stop what? I’m just doing my job.” He keeps on writhing to demonstrate, and casts his best fuck-me glance back over his shoulder at Byakuya. “Gotta make it look convincing,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.

 

Byakuya grits his teeth. “The clenching is...unnecessary,” he whispers back, and his thrusts are slowing and there’s something ever so slightly erratic in his movements. “The cameras can’t even see it, and it’s…” He breaks off at the same moment his hips stutter to a halt, and to cover for the lapse he pulls Renji around and flips him onto his back, pulling his legs up over his shoulders with a little more force than is strictly necessary. “It’s a waste of your energy,” he groans under his breath. “Just stop it.”

 

Renji can’t quite stop a smirk from curling his lips. He hides it in a wide-mouthed, dramatic cry, flinging his head back and arching up and tightens around Byakuya’s cock one last time, just for good luck. He likes the way the muscles clench in Byakuya’s jaw, likes the the approving murmurs all around them from the crew as they look on at what Renji is damn sure is the most convincing scene he’s ever filmed.

 

So convincing, in fact, that he’s already starting to pant for breath as each slide of Byakuya’s cock makes small points of light blink before his eyes. He...might have misjudged this whole ‘winding him up’ plan, because Byakuya seems to be pulling himself together enough to change the angle of his thrusts - _just_ enough - and the hand that comes down between them and wraps around Renji’s cock is hot and slick with malice. With a jolt of alarm it dawns on Renji that Byakuya has never actually tried to make this good for him before, and...well, he’s never thought of handjobs as vengeful before, but there’s talent in Byakuya’s hands that promises imminent and irresistible embarrassment. “Fuck,” he moans, more for himself than for the camera. It’s all building too fast, but Byakuya isn’t stopping. He’s going to sabotage the whole scene just to get the upper hand, and there’s no way Renji can hold back now and oh god he’s going to _come_ …

 

It all stops so suddenly that Renji is left panting and completely disoriented, splayed on the floor with his mouth sagging open and bright points of light flashing before his eyes. The hand on his cock is gone. The maddening friction inside him is gone. “Suck me,” he hears Byakuya say, and somehow he is being dragged back around onto his knees, achingly empty and still teetering so close to the brink that the barest touch would send him spilling over. But no touch comes. He’s limp as a ragdoll as Byakuya pushes inside his mouth again, too far gone to stop the moans rising up in his throat, but it doesn’t matter because he knows now that this is exactly where Byakuya wanted him. The beast is tamed and the director is over the moon, and it’s not much longer after that before Renji is finally allowed to come. He falls apart far too easily in Byakuya’s hands, pouring the last of his energy into one final dramatic cry for the camera, and Byakuya follows with a groan that sounds barely even deliberate.

 

Afterwards he drags himself to the shower on willpower alone, and only drags himself out again because he needs a cigarette so bad he thinks his body might actually disintegrate without it.

 

Byakuya has left the set by the time Renji emerges but he finds him outside the building, leaning back casually against the wall and tapping away on his phone. He stows it in his pocket as Renji approaches, and waves away the wafting cigarette fumes with a slight wrinkle of his nose. “Who’ll pay for your dinner if you suffocate me?” he asks, and Renji quickly steps downwind and tries to conceal the grin that’s spreading from ear to ear.

 

“Sorry,” he says. “Guess breathing is more of an issue than usual, after being caught off-guard like that.” His concealment efforts aren’t working: Renji’s face is a beacon of smugness, cheeks reddening with the heat of his self-satisfaction.

 

Byakuya casts him a very dirty look. “If you’re going to be like that, I think we’ll skip the restaurant. How do you feel about stopping by the supermarket for some instant noodles? We can eat them in the park together.”

 

“Oh god, anything but that.” Renji throws up hands in mock defeat, although privately he can’t help thinking that cup noodles the park with someone as posh as Byakuya would be a very memorable experience. But he’s also not going to complain about the place Byakuya has chosen, which turns out to be such a short walk from where they are that Renji’s chronic foot-in-mouth doesn’t even have time to kick in before they’re arriving at their destination and being led to their seat by a smiling waiter in a sharply cut suit.

 

This is the first time Renji has ever walked into a restaurant with actual plants growing inside. A bamboo trellis runs along one side of the room, spilling flourishing green vines onto the long wooden counter of the bar in front of it. The tables are draped with rustic checkered cloth, laid out with simple place settings and a large jug of iced lemon water in the centre. He can’t quite make out the curly Latin script at the top of the menu, but the ‘authentic Italian cuisine’ inked neatly beneath it and the little chef’s-hatted mascot on the corner of the page tell him what he needs to know about the place. Renji finds the whole set-up completely charming - a delicate balance of class and gimmick, the trendy sort of place he can imagine Rukia frequenting quite happily on a weeknight.

 

“This is the best I can do without time to book a reservation,” says Byakuya, so curtly that it takes Renji a good several moments to realise he’s actually apologising, in his own taciturn way.

 

So Renji laughs, and takes a deep swig of the iced water the waiter has just poured for him. “Good enough for me,” he says frankly. “I can’t even read half of what’s on this menu...do you always dine this fancy?”

 

“Fancy?” Byakuya gives him a very strange look, lips pursing to suppress what Renji strongly suspects is a smile. “I wouldn’t go that far. But the food is good.”

 

“Great, because I’m starving.” Renji’s not about to let on now, but his legs are still wobbling a bit beneath the table and his head is spinning like he hasn’t eaten for days. He worked hard in that scene - harder than he’s worked in ages, and it’s all he can do not to let the tiredness show. Now that he’s sitting across from Byakuya he doesn’t know quite what to say, so he buries himself in his menu and tries to think dignified thoughts.

 

This would be a good time to get Yumichika on the phone - or better yet, Rangiku - but there’s no tactful way of excusing himself from the table to go call his friends for flirting tips, so sooner or later he’ll have to think of something suave to say on his own. After several solid minutes of silence he’s still come up with nothing, so he picks a dish at random from the menu and waits until the waiter is out of earshot before he falls back on his old standby: impulsive rambling. “So, uh...yeah, nice place. Do you eat here a lot? I don’t really get out to that many restaurants, to tell you the truth...Ikkaku, my housemate, he’s a pretty good cook. Always happy to whip up something fancy on special occasions to save us having to pay to go out. You’ve met Ikkaku already though, haven’t you? Bald guy, always wears this red eyeshadow.” He indicates; Byakuya just blinks at him blandly. “Bit shorter than me,” Renji tries, holding up a hand at about the right height. “And, uh...pretty well hung?”

 

Byakuya shakes his head.

 

“You’ve definitely worked with him before,” says Renji. “I’ve seen the video and everything!” The moment the words leave his mouth he feels a surge of horror, and blood comes rushing to his face. “Uh, not on purpose, of course. I don’t _normally_ watch your films, Yumichika just decided to get this one out at a party a while back...Yumichika, he’s my other housemate, I dunno if you’ve worked with him before? Smaller than you, um...wears these feathers on his eyes sometimes...he’s really pretty, you’d probably remember him if I showed you a-”

 

“Renji.”

 

“Yeah?” Renji looks up at once, every inch of his face burning with embarrassment, and finds Byakuya watching him with an expression of distinct amusement. “Fuck, I’m rambling again, I’m really sorry. I just...do that sometimes, you know? It’d probably be easier if you stopped looking at me. You’re making me nervous.”

 

This seems to surprise Byakuya. It’s hard to tell from such a blank face, but Renji’s pretty sure his head is tilted a little, brows furrowing thoughtfully. “Nervous? Why?”

 

“Because…” Renji swallows. Ten minutes. They’ve been on their date for all of ten minutes, and already he’s made the world’s biggest idiot of himself. “Just because, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Shrugging, Byakuya turns his attention back to his glass of water. “I have to say, though, you were a far cry from bashful on set today. I’m surprised at you.”

 

He’s...laughing, Renji realises, watching the way Byakuya’s lips pull thin around the rim of his glass, eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s trying to look indifferent but inside he’s laughing, and maybe it’s that which reminds Renji that yeah, he _was_ pretty bold earlier. It didn’t seem to go over too badly, either. There’s not much he could do to make himself look worse now than he does already, so he takes a deep breath and forces his face into his best approximation of a smirk. “I’ve been doing a lot of that today, haven’t I?” he says, and chuckles. “Surprising you, I mean.”

 

Byakuya’s lips twitch again. “Perhaps. But I wouldn’t like you to think too much of it. At least part of it was down to luck.”

 

“Nah, you’re not getting out of it that easily,” Renji laughs. “Honour system, remember? Admit it. You weren’t expecting it when I jumped on you before. I heard you gasp.”

 

The look Byakuya gives him is stony and, for a second, Renji thinks he has horribly misjudged the mood of their banter. But then Byakuya just shakes his head and sighs. “I most certainly was expecting it,” he says with a dry, humourless chuckle. “You could hardly have chosen a more predictable move.” He glances up, holds Renji’s gaze for a long moment, then looks back down at his hands resting loosely in his lap. “I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it,” he murmurs, very quietly, as if he hasn’t made up his mind whether he wants Renji to hear him.

 

But Renji hears. All at once his mouth is so dry that he hardly trusts himself to speak.

 

If Byakuya is aware of the way Renji’s blood is racing through his veins then he makes no mention of it. “I generally avoid giving unsolicited advice,” he says at a more natural volume, “but today is a good example of the kind of scene you should be aiming to do more often. I wasn’t expecting you to adapt so well to working without clear directions, but it seems you have a knack for improvisation.”

 

It’s not helping. Compliments really are not helping right now. Renji’s cheeks are so hot he thinks they might spontaneously combust any second now, and he downs the rest of his glass in one noisy gulp. “Told you,” he says, though he’s pretty sure his intended smirk is coming out as more of a terror-stricken grimace. “I love improvising. Makes it feel more real, you know?”

 

“I do know.” Byakuya looks at him thoughtfully. “When we first filmed together you were so meek and yielding that I half-expected you to break if I so much as looked at you. You’d have done anything the director told you to, the whole room could sense it. To be quite honest, it was the most uncomfortable shoot I’ve done in years.”

 

Renji swallows thickly. So much for compliments. He vividly remembers the scene Byakuya is talking about, but all his memories centre on his _own_ embarrassment. It’s never occurred to him that Byakuya might have been uncomfortable as well, and the thought sits so strangely alongside his existing memories of Byakuya’s conduct (cold, dignified, unreachable) that he hardly knows whether to believe it. His cheeks are getting hotter still, and he makes a swift grab for the water jug  - only to find Byakuya already holding it, politely refilling his glass like he’s read Renji’s mind. “You don’t have to be so blunt about it,” Renji mumbles into his newly filled glass. “I was-”

 

“New,” Byakuya cuts in. “I know. I’ve been in this industry a long time, Renji - I know what new looks like. And the mistake you’ve been making is one I’ve seen a hundred times.” He refills his own glass, and takes a delicate sip. “You’ve forgotten, or perhaps you don’t realise, that you are the star of the show. The job of every single other person on set, myself included, is to make you look as good as possible.”

 

“That’s-” Renji tries to speak, but his voice is sticking in his throat. “That’s ridiculous,” he tries again. “I’m not that important. You guys are the ones who know what you’re doing, I’m just there to...I dunno, take what you dish out, I guess. Right?”

 

The frown that appeared on Byakuya’s face at the word ‘ridiculous’ is quick to soften as he continues looking intently at Renji. “Wrong. It’s not this way everywhere, but I’ll be honest with you - the kind of films I shoot are usually targeted towards an audience who prefer to envision themselves in my role. I’m there as a stand-in for their own fantasies; you’re the one who captures their attention. It doesn’t much matter to them what I look like.”

 

Which is one of the most grossly unfair things Renji has ever heard. “But you always look good anyway,” he grumbles. “And that’s a lot of pressure to put on me. I can’t be expected to carry the whole scene, especially if I don’t even know I’m meant to be doing it.”

 

“I disagree,” says Byakuya. “Your central role doesn’t mean pressure - it means freedom. It means that you can and should bring more of your own character to the scenes you film. Everyone else will adapt.” He gives a small one-armed shrug, and sits back a little in his chair. “What I mean to say is you ought to participate more. Work _with_ the other actors and the crew instead of working _for_ them.”

 

Despite his shell-shocked state, Renji can’t stop a gruff little chuckle from escaping his throat. “Can’t believe you of all people are telling me to be more sociable on set,” he says. “As soon as the cameras stop rolling you’re always out of there like a bat out of hell. I’m not saying anything bad,” he hastens to add, as Byakuya arches a brow at him. “I just mean...I don’t know, you’ve never seemed all that worried about making friends with co-stars, so I’m surprised to hear you saying the friendship bit is so important.”

 

“But that’s not what I’m saying,” says Byakuya. “Our relationship off-set is irrelevant. What matters is our ability to cooperate during filming, to work as a cohesive unit rather than two strangers reading straight from separate scripts.” He pauses, and casts a quick glance over his shoulder - either to create suspense or to check if their meal’s ready yet, Renji can’t quite tell. “Manufacturing intimacy is our job, Renji. If we can’t manage it for ourselves, how can we expect to convince our viewers?”

 

And Renji thinks he’s starting to understand. “You’re not a normal person, though,” he says. “Wait, that came out wrong...I mean you’re different from someone like me. Like you said, you’ve been doing it for ages. Maybe you’ve got no problems faking a close working relationship for a couple of hours with whoever’s sharing your set, but if I knew how to fake that kind of bond then I’d probably be acting sitcoms or something instead.” Strictly speaking, this is a lie - Renji _hates_ sitcoms, and he likes getting paid to have sex, and he’s never wanted to be a ‘proper’ actor anyway - but he’s still pretty pleased with his wit, and he pauses to give Byakuya time to chuckle appreciatively.

 

Byakuya just blinks, nonplussed, waiting for him to finish the thought.

 

“Er...yeah,” Renji goes on, feeling the heat flood his face all over again. “What I’m saying is that not everyone can just switch in and out of being friends with someone. Fucking your co-stars is an acting gig, sure. But negotiating the scene with them beforehand? That’s not acting. Not for me, anyway.” He takes a deep breath and prays he’s not overstepping his bounds. “Truth is? I thought you hated me the first time I saw you on set. And I’d rather know that the people I’m fucking don’t mind goofing around with me a bit after hours, you know?”

 

Such a long silence follows this statement that Renji thinks he must have said something disastrously wrong. But Byakuya doesn’t look annoyed, or upset - he just looks thoughtful, and he keeps looking at Renji through carefully blank eyes. “That’s not my way,” he says at last, and the words have a ringing air of finality that tell Renji it’s best to drop the conversation for now.

 

It’s not like they don’t have plenty else to chat about. Small talk and industry gossip keep them occupied through most of the meal, which has to be some of the best food Renji has ever tasted in his life. Part of him wishes they could talk about something a little less shallow, but the smarter part is willing to settle for the fact that he hasn’t yet knocked over his glass or otherwise humiliated himself beyond redemption and that Byakuya, though back to his usual solemn reserve, seems to be making a genuine effort to put him at ease with polite conversation.

 

They part afterwards on a quiet note - no goodbye kisses, no promises of a second date - but for one long moment Byakuya's eyes lock with Renji's and there's something there in their depths. It looks a lot like indecision, or some kind of pained inner conflict, but a strange hunch tells Renji to interpret it as want. He stares unseeing out the window of the cab Byakuya has hailed for him, and wonders if maybe he should have pressed his luck just a little further while he still had the chance.

 


	6. Ghosts in the Attic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date with Byakuya has left Renji with a lot to think about. Elsewhere, it seems Byakuya has been doing some thinking of his own...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so_ sorry for how long it's taken me to finish this chapter. Uni has been completely kicking my arse these past few weeks, but I'm settling back in now and should have more time to write. I really appreciate all the feedback and suggestions, thank you all for bearing with me. Thanks as always go to Vorvayne for beta-ing and cheerleading.

"He'd have decked you, most likely."

 

It's a lovely morning. Renji doesn't usually make a habit of waking up before the sun has climbed up level with their apartment building - not on his days off, anyway - but excitement over last night has left him agitated, and sheer luck woke him just in time to catch Ikkaku as he headed out for his morning jog. Now Ikkaku is perched across from him on the couch, casting wistful glances towards his jogging shoes over by the door, supremely indifferent to Renji's inner turmoil.

 

"I'm telling you," says Renji, leaning forward earnestly, "there was more than just cab fares on his mind when we said goodbye. I think he _wanted_ me to do something, push it further."

 

"Well then, why didn't you?"

 

"I don't _know_." Giving up on all pretense of self-possession, Renji flops down and buries his face in the armrest of the couch. "I just froze up, and I couldn't tell if he wanted me to make a move or if he was just, I dunno, being polite...he's normally so bossy on set, it's hard to know what to do when he's not the one taking charge!"

 

Ikkaku snorts but doesn't offer much in the way of helpful advice. "You worry too much," is all he says, and casts another pointed glance at the door which Renji pretends not to notice.

 

"What's going on here?" From the hallway Yumichika is surveying them with a distrustful sort of interest, unexpectedly dignified with his bare chest and peacock-patterned pyjama pants. "You're never up this early, Renji. Did someone die?"

 

Ikkaku is on his feet before Renji can open his mouth to reply. "You're a lifesaver," he tells Yumichika, casting a baneful eye over Renji as he speaks. "I can't deal with all this crap so early in the morning. Not before my run. You handle him, will you?"

 

" _Handle_ me?" Renji bristles, but Ikkaku is too busy lacing up his running shoes to pay any attention. Yumichika just rolls his eyes good-naturedly and bustles off to the kitchen, which Renji takes as a sign that tea and sympathy will soon be forthcoming.

 

Sure enough, Yumichika returns with two steaming mugs and an appropriately caring expression on his face, though Renji has long since learned that 'caring' from Yumichika nomally adds up to 'lots of insight he really doesn't want to hear but has no choice over'. "Please don't tell me you've been sacked," says Yumichika without preamble, and Renji is forced to wait until he's set down the hot tea before lobbing a cushion at him. Yumichika catches it deftly, and fluffs it up before setting it down at his place on the couch and sinking onto it. "I'll take that as a no, shall I? That's a relief."

 

"Course I haven't been sacked," says Renji irritably. "How do you even get sacked from the porn industry? I'll have you know my shoot yesterday went like a wet dream. Nobody's gonna sack me, I'm too good."

 

Ikkaku looks up from his stretches to snort at Renji. "Good thing you're keeping a level head," he says. "Wouldn't want to be too modest or anything."

 

"Yeah, well." Renji's not in the mood for this crap, not when he's got such important news hanging over his head. "Listen, Yumichika, I need your advice. Last night I went on a date with Kuchiki Byakuya."

 

In the silence that ensues, he sees Ikkaku crane his neck around to watch Yumichika's reaction. It's not often that Yumichika has nothing to say, but it takes him several long seconds to get past the blinking-and-gaping stage of taking in new gossip. "Is that a joke?" he says, staring at Renji in open disbelief. "No, it can't be, you've never had a sense of humour in the morning. You really...a date? And actually with Kuchiki? How on earth did you manage that?"

 

"Yes, a date," says Renji. "Yes, actually with Kuchiki. We made a bet about the scene we were filming - if I could catch him by surprise with anything I did, he'd take me out for dinner."

 

Yumichika perks up with interest. "And what did you do?"

 

"Pushed him over and bit his neck and humped him." Given how Yumichika and Ikkaku's relationship has always worked, Renji thinks it's very unkind of them to snicker quite so loudly. "It was part of the scene, okay? I was supposed to try and top him so he could smack me back down. Only..."

 

"Yes?" Finally he's got a captive audience; Ikkaku has given up on stretching to listen, and Yumichika's tea is cooling untouched on the coffee table.

 

Renji takes a deep breath, and tries to remember how to tell part of a story without telling absolutely all of it. Because he's never been much use at keeping secrets, but he's pretty sure Byakuya wouldn't thank him for blurting every detail of their interaction to his gossipy housemates. “Only I guess I...did a better job than he expected,” he says, blushing. “Probably he was expecting me to fall flat on my face or something the moment I tried to top. So he called it my win and took me out to this nice Italian restaurant and talked to me about...stuff.” Breathe. That was a good answer, Renji thinks. Nice and vague and minimally likely to offend Byakuya if the rumour happens to spread beyond Renji’s living room. He silently congratulates himself on his tact and discretion.

 

Yumichika looks less impressed. “What kind of stuff?” he says, leaning forward where he sits to scrutinise Renji like a medical examiner.

 

Under a gaze like that it’s hard not to fidget. “Mostly just normal stuff, small talk,” says Renji. “And he, er, criticised my acting skills a bit, gave me some pointers.” Seeing the way Yumichika’s eyebrows are climbing towards his hairline, Renji starts to flounder. “I know it sounds kind of weird, but you’ve gotta believe it, there was definitely some tension there! Like romantic tension, sexual tension, I dunno. Maybe you had to be there.”

 

“Sounds like a good time,” says Ikkaku indifferently. “Mind if I head out for my jog now? Only it’s gonna start getting hot soon.”

 

Renji realises he’s losing his audience. Yumichika’s interested expression has faded to polite indifference, and Ikkaku is fidgeting where he sits. "Go on," he says, waving an irritable hand towards the door. "Go for your jog. It's not like I'm in the middle of a crisis or anything." He doesn't bother to wait for Ikkaku's reply as he rises and stomps off to the kitchen. "Thanks for the tea," he calls back over his shoulder, "but I think I need something a bit stronger today."

 

Behind him, he hears the front door close as Ikkaku leaves. "I hope you're only talking about coffee," comes Yumichika's disapproving voice from the lounge room, and in a sudden flash of inspiration it strikes Renji what he needs to do to get a sympathetic ear for his problems.

 

"Actually," he says, sticking his head back around the kitchen door, "I'm gonna need stronger coffee than what's in our cupboard. Feel like taking a trip with me?"

 

Yumichika regards him disdainfully. "I've got things to do today," he says, which Renji knows is an outright lie - Yumichika hasn't even bothered to hide the tottering pile of borrowed rom-coms stacked beside the TV.

 

"I know a place that makes the most beautiful coffee," says Renji, in the best wheedling voice he can imagine. "Only I don't want to go alone, because...well, it's kind of posh. Full of all these trendy people." Bingo - Yumichika's eyes light up. "It's not that far a trip."

 

"I'm not interested," says Yumichika unconvincingly.

 

"They've got this really nice drink, espresso poured over ice cream, you've never tasted anything like it-"

 

"It's called an affogato, and I've had it before."

 

So that’s how it’s going to be. Biting back a deep sigh of resignation, Renji swallows the very last of his pride and reaches for his trump card. "It's my shout,” he says, and reminds himself firmly that money isn’t the tight resource it used to be and there’s no need to panic at the expense.

 

He’s got this.

 

They end up taking almost an hour to get to their destination, because Yumichika needs to get dressed and groomed for the day and by the time he’s ready to leave, they’re stuck smack bang in the middle of peak hour traffic as the rest of the world makes a dash for the office. The cafe where Renji first bumped into Rukia is busy with customers lining up for takeaway coffees but the tables are nearly empty, and they place their orders with a sleepy-looking waitress whose plasticky smile and sagging posture tell Renji she’s about as much a morning person as he is.

 

“Beautiful day,” she intones flatly as she scrawls their requests down on her order pad. “Can I bring you gentlemen the breakfast menu?”

 

“That would be lovely.” Yumichika looks quite decided, and Renji takes a moment to mentally recite the figures on his last several paychecks to reassure himself that this isn’t the end of the world. He waits in awkward silence as Yumichika pores over the menu, trying to remember the rest of the rant that had been coming so easily to him back in the apartment. He seems to have lost the wind from his sails and he’s no longer sure how he’s even going to explain the situation to Yumichika now.

 

Fortunately, Yumichika is a bit more on the ball. “So let’s talk about your date with Kuchiki,” he says once he’s finished ordering - he’s gone for a selection of sugary pastries, which are overpriced, but at least not as bad as a lot of what’s on the menu. “I take it you’re feeling ambivalent about the experience.”

 

“It’s not that.” The drinks haven’t arrived yet, so Renji is reduced to playing with a sugar sachet for something to do with his hands. “I mean, I’m not ambivalent about _him_. I’m dead sure about him. But I feel like I missed a trick. Like he was expecting something from me, and I didn’t deliver. I’m just...I really wanted to get it all right, but I’m so sure I bungled something.”

 

Yumichika considers this. “There’s no question that you bungled it, Renji. Bungling things is in your nature.” He waves away Renji’s yelp of protest with an impatient hand. “And I’m sure he knows it already, since he’s been working with you so closely. Obviously he considers your regular surges of incompetence to be a part of your charm.”

 

“Dunno about charm,” says Renji with a grimace - he lacks the conviction to argue with the rest of Yumichika’s assessment. “But there’s _definitely_ chemistry. No way am I wrong about that. He…he enjoyed it, Yumichika. Enjoyed our scene together I mean. He even admitted it afterwards.”

 

Yumichika’s manicured brows are climbing higher up his forehead. “He enjoyed having sex with you? I’m a bit concerned that you find that so surprising.” He clears his throat delicately. “We’re all professionals, certainly, but none of us would get far if we didn’t find at least some satisfaction in our work.”

 

Renji scowls. “You’re missing the point-”

 

“No I’m not.” Infuriatingly calm, Yumichika makes a good show of unfolding his serviette on his lap before continuing. His eyes bore straight into Renji’s, and there’s no softness or sympathy in their depths. “I mean this as kindly as possible, but it’s dangerous to get your feelings too closely tied up with your job. I know the nature of our work is unusually intimate, and I’m not denying the existence of the chemistry you felt. I’m only saying that you’d be stupid to let your expectations get too high at such an early stage.” Renji goes to interject, but Yumichika holds up a quelling hand again. “Sometimes workplace flings do turn out well - Ikkaku and I are an excellent example of that. But other times...well...what does the name Ichimaru Gin mean to you? Hitsugaya Toushirou? Muguruma Kensei?”

 

“Nothing,” says Renji, blinking.

 

“Exactly.” Yumichika looks triumphant, like he’s just won a very important argument. “Well, mostly what this tells me is that you need to talk to your friends more. But let’s just say that I’ve seen plenty of people take their working chemistry a bit too seriously, and suffer for it. Exploring a new connection is one thing. Latching on to an idol is another altogether.”

 

Something strange is going on inside Renji: it feels like all his blood is simultaneously trying to flood his cheeks and drain from them, and his palms tingle where his nails are digging into them. “I’m not ‘latching on to an idol’,” he says through gritted teeth. “I don’t know where you even get that from. I didn’t come here for some cryptic cautionary tale, anyway. I only wanted to talk to you about a fun date I had, see what you thought-”

 

“And I’ve told you what I think,” says Yumichika. His voice is clipped and cool now, rapidly losing interest in their debate. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be excited, or that you shouldn’t try to follow up what happened last night. I just want to make sure you’re not throwing yourself in the deep end before you learn how to swim. You’ve always been reckless, Renji, you can’t deny that.”

 

Checkmate. “Yeah, fine, you’ve got a point,” sighs Renji. “And I appreciate you watching my back. But give me a little credit here, okay? I didn’t drag myself out of bed at the crack of dawn over nothing. I actually did want your advice - because I enjoyed last night and I’d like it to happen again if possible. But I can’t figure out what he wants from me.”

 

Yumichika rolls his eyes, though he looks somewhat mollified. “That’s exactly why I was as sharp with you as I was,” he says. “Who _cares_ about figuring out what he wants from you, Renji? He’s a confident adult man who’s more than capable of making his needs known. If you go into this trying to pander to him, you’ll doom yourself before you start. If you’re seeing signs that he’s uncertain, you should leave him space to make up his mind. If the chemistry you saw was real then you’ll know it soon enough; if it wasn’t real then agonising over everything you said and did isn’t going to help.”

 

The coffee arrives before Renji can come up with an adequate retort. But somehow, although his ego is stinging from Yumichika’s matter-of-fact assault, he’s got this weird feeling that something just clicked into place inside his head.

 

He enjoys the ensuing sense of calm self-knowledge for about three minutes before his phone rings. The first outcome of this is a moment of gut-wrenching regret as he is reminded, loudly and without a shadow of plausible deniability, that Hisagi and Kira’s recent drunken alterations to his old ringtone are still in place. The second outcome is a wild scramble through his pockets to locate the source of all the wanton pornographic moaning, trying and failing to ignore the stares (varyingly shocked, embarrassed and disgusted) from the rest of the cafe’s patrons. “Who is it?” he barks down the line, feeling his face redden as scandalised titters erupt down the coffee queue.

 

“We need you back in this afternoon.” The speaker doesn’t bother to identify himself, but Renji recognises the gruff voice of the main cameraman from yesterday’s shoot. “Director’s changed his mind about how we’re going to market the film, and we need a fresh batch of promo pics. How soon can you be here?”

 

“I...I can’t,” says Renji, impulse taking over before his higher brain can remind him that his only existing plans today are with his well-worn spot on the couch at home. He hasn’t even washed his hair, and his clothes from the shoot are still lying crumpled on his bedroom floor. “Sorry, but I need more notice than you’ve given me...can we do it tomorrow?”

 

“‘Fraid not.” The cameraman’s tone is blunt and decisive. “Kuchiki’s flying out to some other set tomorrow, we can’t ask him to reschedule that. It’s today or bust.”

 

Renji is briefly annoyed that he’s apparently expected to drop everything to fit in with Byakuya’s schedule, but the annoyance isn’t sticking because the keyword is _Byakuya_ , and his stomach is already launching into a strange, squiggly acrobatics routine inside him at the thought of what that might mean. Somehow, the connection between going back in for a second shoot and seeing Byakuya again so soon after their date hadn’t clicked in his mind until now. _Be cool_ , he tells himself, and takes a big deep breath before responding. “Fair enough then. I’ll be in after lunch...around one o’clock, probably?”

 

“Sounds good.” The line goes dead, and Renji shoves his phone back into his pocket and returns, grinning broadly, to the present reality in which half the cafe is still eyeing him distrustfully and Yumichika’s reddened cheeks are beacons of imminent danger.

 

But somehow, the returning surge of embarrassment isn’t enough to stop the pleasant squirming in his stomach. Because it’s not often that Renji gets a second chance at a missed opportunity. And this time, he doesn’t intend to waste it.

 

-

 

The first thing that becomes apparent when Renji arrives on set is that nobody actually knows what they’re doing.

 

Or at least, that’s what he surmises from the escalating volume of the photography team’s ongoing squabble. He leaves the door propped open when he heads out for his cigarette, and listens sedately to the debate as it rages on inside with no detectable signs of slowing.

 

“It’s completely unprofessional,” says Byakuya in a tone of withering disapproval. Renji was pleased when Byakuya offered to accompany him outside, but so far he seems less interested in discussing their moment of romantic tension last night than he does in keeping his distance from the arguing crewmen. He stands against the outside wall with his body angled pointedly away from the open door, radiating impatience and disdain from every fibre of his body. “Calling us in at a moment’s notice, just to stand around idle while they bicker...I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

Which makes Renji wonder what Byakuya would have to say about some of the sets _he’s_ worked on. “Ah well, you’re moving on to better things soon,” he says, puffing on his cigarette and racking his brains trying to find some way of steering the conversation back to last night. So far, he’s drawing a blank. “Flying out to your next location tomorrow, and all. They must have a budget to blow, if they’re springing for plane tickets...just how big a deal are we talking?”

 

Byakuya pauses in his under-breath tutting to give Renji a look that could be kindly interpreted as confusion and less kindly interpreted as pity. “It’s quite a small production,” he says, in the same airy tone that Rukia uses on the rare occasions when the topic of money is touched upon. “Not as small as the work local studios like this are offering, but far from extravagant.”

 

Small? Renji feels a sudden rise in his usual embarrassment levels, and takes several long drags to compensate. It honestly never occurred to him to think outside the sphere of the local companies he’s been working for this whole time; until now he was under the impression that some of what he’s been doing, like the current production, actually counted as pretty big. Hearing Byakuya refer to it in such diminishing terms makes him wonder just what sized corner of this industry he’s working in, and if his growing sense of importance has been maybe a bit premature. “I guess you’re used to working pretty large-scale stuff,” he says, hoping that his teasing tone will distract Byakuya from the rapidly darkening colour of his cheeks. “What’s the appeal of roles like this one, if there’s companies who’ll pay you to fly around the country?”

 

The ploy works, though it elicits a rather indignant huffing sound from Byakuya; he goes back to looking fixedly away from the door, still oozing disapproval and playing no attention to Renji’s embarrassment. “You’re aware that my grandmother recently passed away,” he says coolly, though Renji knows enough by now to realise the bite in Byakuya’s tone isn’t personal. “While she was ill, I thought it best to stay close to the family, pursue my work locally. I’ll be able to take on more diverse roles now that I’m not needed here.”

 

It takes Renji a moment to digest these words. _Diverse roles_...that sounds kind of like some kind of upper-crust euphemism for ‘anywhere but here’. Words of protest are halfway to his lips before common sense manages to snag his attention, and he quickly swallows them and redirects. “That’s great news,” he says weakly. “So what kind of roles are you looking at now? Will you be travelling far?”

 

This line of questioning seems to confuse Byakuya, who doesn’t quite give Renji another one of his sharp glances, but looks as though he might be seriously thinking about it. “Not terribly far,” he says. “I’ll still be living here, but there are better work options in the city with some of the larger studios.”

 

He sounds as if he’s commenting on the weather; common sense tugs anxiously at Renji’s sleeve, but he ignores it. “So...does that mean I’ll be seeing less of you around here, then?”

 

It’s miraculous, really, how fast the atmosphere changes. It’s all in the details: a slight stiffening of Byakuya’s shoulders, a barely-audible inhalation of breath, and a pause that’s just a little _too_ long before he answers. “Yes, I daresay it does,” he says, and he’s trying to sound indifferent but Renji’s _sure_ there’s something there in his voice, something he’s not saying. And by now Renji has learned better than to wait in silence and hope he’ll speak up. That’s not how Byakuya works.

 

Common sense gives up in despair, and takes a flying dive out the nearest window.

 

“If we won’t be working together much any more,” Renji says, keeping his voice determinedly light and even, “I’d still like to see each other now and then. I owe you a dinner, after last night.”

 

Another pause. Byakuya is no longer bothering to ostentatiously disapprove of the squabbling cameramen; his eyes are still fixed straight ahead of him, but he’s staring at nothing. “You do not,” he says at length, and Renji notes the slight drop in the pitch of his voice and wonders why his second chance seems to be derailing so horribly fast. Did he say something wrong? Is this a test of some kind? Why won’t Byakuya turn and look at him? “You won that meal fair and square. There is no debt.”

 

“But…” Renji takes a slow breath, tries to gather his thoughts. “Okay,” he tries, “There’s no debt. But I’d still like to see you again.”

 

He waits. Byakuya’s hands twitch by his sides, as though he’s fighting not to ball them into fists.

 

It takes an age, but eventually Byakuya turns his head again; the eyes that meet Renji’s are veiled, and his whole bearing is so deliberately and aggressively detached that Renji can hear the echo of his rejection before he even utters it. “I’m afraid that won’t be a good idea.” Byakuya swallows, then turns away again, renews his fascination with the empty air in front of him. “I have a very busy schedule.”

 

It’s strange, the sensation that’s flooding Renji’s veins. It’s not embarrassment. It’s thick like treacle, and it makes his limbs feel cold and heavy. “Of course,” he hears himself say, though the words sound distant in his own ears. “Gotta stay focused on work, definitely. I totally get it. Not a problem at all!”

 

“I’m glad you understand.” The words are hollow, ringing with insincerity. Renji remembers how earnest Byakuya sounded when they spoke last night, how _comfortable_ , and he has to swallow against the bitter taste in his mouth, like bile.

 

He becomes aware that the argument from inside has stopped. “Game on,” announces the head that pops around the door to summon them, and it’s scary to watch how fast Byakuya’s professional mask snaps back into place. At once his posture relaxes and he gives the man a businesslike nod, follows him inside, makes a beeline for the head photographer to find out what’s expected of them. Their instructions are pretty simple - not all that different from the promo shots they did first thing yesterday, to be honest - but Renji feels queasy and he finds his hands shaking as he tries to take off his jacket. He’s barely sure what just happened except that it bore no resemblance to any of the scenarios he lay awake last night playing out in his mind. He feels exposed, impossibly awkward, and for the first time since his very first role the idea of being naked in front of all these people makes him break into a cold sweat.

 

And there’s no reprieve. The first shot they want to take is a kiss, an actual fucking _kiss_ , and Byakuya is pitiless as he reaches out to guide Renji into position. “We have a job to do,” he says, and his eyes are already doing that _thing_ he does like he’s halfway consumed by passion, and his hand on Renji’s cheek is tender and his voice is quiet and utterly emotionless.

 

And he kisses Renji like he’s drowning, and the cameras click and whirr, and Renji thinks back to this morning with Yumichika and remembers his advice - _leave him space to make up his mind_. And he wonders if any of those mixed signals last night were even real, or if they were just another part of Byakuya’s act. The act he can put on so seamlessly, remorselessly, the burning passion that the cameras can bring out in him when Renji can’t.

 

The world is spinning, so Renji fists a hand in Byakuya’s hair for balance and kisses back like this cheap promotional tryst in front of the cameras is the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life.


	7. Upward Mobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byakuya may have turned his back, but Renji's life is looking up...and up, and up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost feel like I should be recapping at the start of each new chapter...I hate leaving breaks this long, and I hope really soon now I'll be at a point where I can write faster. In the meantime, I hope this will suffice! Now featuring bonus Urahara courtesy of lyingfiend's request, and you can blame Vorvayne for all my confused feelings about it.
> 
> (Renji and Urahara are an _issue_ for me, okay...if you guys haven't read [Shop Work](https://archiveofourown.org/works/970321) yet then now might be a good time for me to recommend it. It has nothing to do with my take on their interactions but the influence isn't exactly hard to spot.)

Time passes in a hazy blur.

  


“Just forget about him,” is Yumichika’s sage advice, and for the first little while Renji honestly tries to follow it. But things are changing, and before he knows what’s happening he starts to get phone calls. Lots of them. Interview requests, event invitations, offers for roles he hasn’t even auditioned for. He spends three days fielding the onslaught of attention in utter confusion before finally the name on caller ID is his agent’s, and Renji is told (in a voice of oily self-satisfaction) that his last shoot with Byakuya has caused quite a sensation among viewers.

  


Well, that’s how he phrases it. It sounds kind of fishy to Renji, so he asks for the sale statistics since its release.

  


And then he has to sit down for a very long time.

  


“You don’t understand,” he warbles, as Yumichika eyes him patiently over the rim of his celebratory cocktail. “Half the damn _country_ has seen me naked. There’s magazines trying to get me to do photoshoots. People are paying _serious money_ just to look at my ass and jerk off, Yumichika. It’s completely fucked up!”

  


“Well, you are in porn, you know.” Yumichika’s voice reminds Renji forcibly of the kind but overworked matron who used to supervise playtime back at the orphanage. “Sooner or later, you were going to have to resign yourself to being looked at naked. Some might go so far as to call it a career objective.”

  


“Yeah, you’re a real comedian.” Renji’s only on his second beer of the evening, so there’s really no reason why his head should still be spinning as much as it is. Ever since the call came this morning he’s felt like the ground beneath his feet won’t stop lurching. “I just...I didn’t know there’d be so many of them. It was a good shoot, but it wasn’t _that_ good.” And it doesn’t help that he still vividly remembers how good it _felt_ , what Byakuya’s voice sounded like when, just for that briefest of seconds, he forgot to fake his breathless gasps of pleasure. The memories are so vivid that Renji can almost taste him, and he takes a quick gulp of his beer before he can make up his mind whether he’s annoyed or aroused or just plain miserable.

  


Yumichika doesn’t look impressed. “I thought you’d be a bit more excited,” he says. “Do you realise what your career prospects are like, after a hit like this? You’re already getting more work offers than you can take on.” There’s a brief pause, and Yumichika’s gaze is far too sharp for Renji’s liking. “This is about Kuchiki, isn’t it?” is his eventual conclusion, and Renji slops a bit of beer down his shirt as he tries to swallow too quickly.

  


But there’s only so long he can get away with dabbing uselessly at the stain before he has to answer the question. “Course not,” he grunts down at his own hands. “I mean, yeah, maybe. A little, but not really, like…” he trails off, hoping for a rescue that doesn’t come.

  


There’s a delicate pause. “Are you going to pick one of those?” asking Yumichika, taking a prim sip of his cocktail. It’s fancier even than Yumichika’s usual fare - three tiers of different colourful liqueurs, garnished with fruit and dusted around the edge of the glass with sugar. Rukia would probably go mad for it. “Because you don’t sound overwhelmingly certain.”

  


Renji glowers; it doesn’t do much good. “Yeah, okay, it’s about him. But so what? I got shot down, and it still stings a bit. I don’t think it’s weird not to be thrilled that everyone’s suddenly obsessed with the last time he and I fucked, while I’m just trying to forget about the whole thing.”

  


“It’s the nature of the business, I’m afraid,” says Yumichika. His tone is lofty, but his hand pats Renji’s arm reassuringly; he doesn’t say ‘I told you so’. “Just look at it like any other opportunity. It didn’t turn out quite how you envisioned, but it’s certainly done wonders for your career.”

  


Which is reasonable advice, as far as Renji’s concerned. It’s not that he thinks Yumichika is _wrong_ \- it’s just that, thinking about it, what he’s saying isn’t really all that different from Byakuya with his spiel about ‘manufactured intimacy’ and the irrelevance of their off-set relationship. It’s pragmatism at its finest, and something about it leaves Renji feeling cold and a little sick.

  


Because unlike Yumichika, unlike Byakuya, Renji’s feelings don’t just neatly unhook from whatever work he’s doing. They’re not a detachable component of his being. He couldn’t do it with the rude customers back at Hiroshi’s seedy laundromat, and he can’t do it now, when passion is what he’s selling and his own damn body is his only toolkit.

  


“You’re right,” he says, and forces a smile onto his rigid face. “I guess I really have hit the jackpot this time.” In one long swig, he downs the rest of his beer. “So where’s the booze then, huh? We gonna celebrate or what?”

  


His boisterous about-face can’t be all that convincing. But Yumichika takes it, lips twitching as he calls out to the bartender for another round. The pressure’s off a little once Ikkaku arrives, not much later, shaking rain off his jacket and leading a small cohort of familiar faces: Hisagi, Momo and Kira, a couple of guys Renji doesn’t think he’s worked with but vaguely recognises, and Matsumoto with her broad smile and seasonally inappropriate minidress. She pushes ahead of the others to make a beeline for the table and plant a big kiss on Renji’s cheek. “Ikkaku told us the news,” she says by way of greeting. “I hear you’ve had _quite_ the success. Oh, you’ll have to tell us all about it…”

  


Afterwards, Renji can’t quite remember how the evening went from there. He knows he drank a lot - probably more than he should have, not that anyone was keeping count. He remembers being kissed and congratulated and thumped on the back, remembers raucous laughter and all-around nudging when the bartender asked after the occasion, remembers juvenile jokes and sly digs and all the things that normally happen when his friends get together. But the only thing that really sticks with him is a strange sort of numbness, an indefinable feeling of detachment from his surroundings, and his smile slides like sludge from his face each time he slips out in private for the bathroom. He doesn’t remember making it home but he remembers falling into bed, and the next thing he knows is a sour taste in his mouth and a pounding headache when he’s woken by the raucous moaning ringtone of his phone.

  


This time, he takes the call. He keeps every last trace of headache out of his voice, and holds out until the recruiter has doubled his offer before agreeing. Then he shuffles off to the bathroom, pukes his guts up, crawls under hot water and scrubs himself from head to toe until every inch of his body is smooth and flushed and clean.

  


It doesn’t make much difference - but it doesn’t really have to, because the calls keep coming anyway. Ignoring the strange disconnected feeling that still hasn’t gone away, Renji brews himself a strong coffee and sits in front of his phone with pen and paper in hand and starts going through his voicemail.

  


It takes him most of the morning, but at least it means he doesn’t have to stop and think too hard about Yumichika’s advice.

  


-

  


Renji has dealt with his fair share of shady characters over the years. Like his old landlord before he moved in with Ikkaku and Yumichika, and half the people he used to work for before he started doing porn. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, necessarily - it’s forced him to get a lot more cluey than he ever would have been otherwise. He’s got a knack for picking when he’s being lied to, and he can usually sort out genuine trouble from petty bullies at a glance. He’s long since learned to trust his gut about what people want from him - whether they’re oily businessmen with brandishing deceptive contracts or burly men brandishing knuckle-dusters, he can figure out what they’re up to in five minutes flat.

  


But he’s been watching this guy for more than double that now, and although he’s practically _radiating_ hidden agenda, Renji can’t for the life of him figure out exactly what it is he’s looking at.

  


It’s kind of unsettling, to be honest.

  


“Kisuke,” says the man. “Urahara Kisuke.” He smiles and bows just a little lower than politeness requires, holding out his hand for Renji to shake. “I’ve heard all about you, of course, Abarai-san.”

  


Renji swallows. He’s spent most of his life having to tell people his name three or four times before it sticks with them; getting recognised on sight is a very new experience, and not one he’s entirely sure he’s comfortable with. “Pleased to meet you,” he says, wiping his clammy hand surreptitiously on his jeans before returning the greeting.

  


“The pleasure’s all mine.” There’s a glint in Urahara’s eye that doesn’t quite match the modest dip of his head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be very patient with me today, Abarai-san. I’ll have to work hard to keep up with someone so naturally talented.”

  


Renji can feel his cheeks burning, but the alarm bells are sounding loud and clear in his head. It’s too early, he thinks, for this strange new acquaintance to be flattering him so much. And anyway, there’s no chance in hell Urahara is the less experienced of the two of them: he’s completely at home on this huge set, surrounded by twice as many crewmen as Renji is used to, greeting all of them by name and commanding everyone’s full attention when he talks. Even the director seems halfway convinced that Urahara is in charge. “Dunno about that,” he says, shoving both hands deep into his pockets. “This is the biggest production I’ve ever been in...kind of intimidating, really. You seem so on the ball, I was planning on taking my cues from you.”

  


Urahara’s laugh is bright and tinkling. “Me? Nonsense. I’m not even really an actor, you know.” He waves his hand vigorously in front of his face, as though warding off the most outrageous compliment. “I’m only a shopkeeper - a humble purveyor of adult entertainment. I supply props at a discount rate to my charming friend here -” he gestures over at the director - “who in exchange is kind enough to let me dabble in front of the camera sometimes.”

  


“Right.” Renji can’t remember ever having felt less convinced of a story in his life, but the crew around them are starting to bustle into action and he’s not getting paid to ferret out his costar’s secrets. “So you’re my rich gentleman lover, right? And I’m your adoring boy-toy.” It’s been a while since Renji has bothered to reflect on just how gross some of these roles he gets are. It pays well, and his lingering feelings of distaste can fold down nicely into the strongbox where he’s taken to storing the thoughts and memories that make him uneasy. “I brought a vibrator,” he adds helpfully, swinging his bag around over his shoulder to fish out the velvet-lined box inside. “Thought maybe you could present it to me as a gift or something. Fuck me with it while I suck you off, maybe.”

  


“How imaginative!” Urahara’s smile widens; this time, Renji thinks, there’s just a shade more sincerity to it. “Yes, that will work very nicely. Shall we, then?”

  


The last implausible threads of Urahara’s modest story unravel completely once they begin the scene. Renji’s no veteran of the industry, but he’s been around long enough by now to know quality acting when he sees it. The last time he worked alongside someone with as commanding a presence as Urahara is packed in nice and tight at the bottom of his memory strongbox, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how to let himself be guided. Urahara’s style is different from Byakuya’s: he doesn’t _tell_ , for one. He doesn’t even suggest. All he really does is imply, very gently and tactfully, and Renji’s never been great at subtlety but there’s something about Urahara’s hints that make them almost impossible to miss.

  


Bringing the vibrator was nothing short of inspired. That much Renji decides early on, at about the point when Urahara starts trailing it up and down the length of his cock. There’s something playful in Urahara’s style that is all too easy to get wrapped up in: they wrestle like cubs, and when Renji eventually yields it’s with a broad grin and a bitten-off moan as Urahara pins his wrists and slides inside him. For moments here and there he almost forgets the shrewdness in Urahara’s eyes, forgets his unease from earlier - the man may be shady, but he knows what he’s doing. He’s not exactly difficult to work with.

  


When they’re finished, Urahara follows him into the shower - a definite breach of etiquette, Renji thinks, but not one which bothers him all that much for one reason or another. He actually doesn’t mind the company, and they stand side by side in the oversized cubicle and chat like they’re facing each other over coffee.

  


“Are you heading straight home this evening?” asks Urahara in a tone of polite interest. “I understand you came here from out of town.”

  


On an aeroplane, no less. Before this morning Renji had never flown anywhere in his life, and was surprised by how unsettling he found the whole experience. The airport had smelled funny, and the other passengers in the waiting lounge had cast him such suspicious looks that it took the combined efforts of Yumichika and Ikkaku just to reassure him that he was in the right place and was perfectly entitled to stay there. The turbulence on take-off and landing was a bit alarming, but he liked the air hostesses and the strange lunch they brought him, each bit of it individually wrapped in foil and plastic. And his favourite bit of all was that the studio - a proper big one, right in the middle of the bustling city - had wanted his presence enough to actually pay for him to get on a plane and come out to act for them. “Thought I’d just find a room here for the night,” Renji says, because even though he didn’t mind the plane he’s not sure he’s ready to try his luck on _two_ of them in one day. Not at this stage of his acquaintance with them, anyway. “Do you know of anywhere nearby?” Anything will do, he figures - a backpacker’s, or a little back-room in a pub somewhere. It won’t be the roughest night he’s ever spent, and it’ll give him a chance to see more of the city.

  


But Urahara looks at him aghast through his dripping fringe, and it occurs to Renji that maybe he should have specified his (relative lack of) accommodation standards. Because Urahara isn’t quite in the same mold as someone like Byakuya, but it’s immediately obvious that he’s thinking of places a lot posher than what Renji had in mind. “You’ve left it awfully late, I’m afraid. Most of the respectable hotels will have booked out for the night already.”

  


Renji shrugs, and holds his hand out for the soap. “How about the not-respectable places?”

  


“Oh, no, they wouldn’t do at all.” Urahara effects a theatrical little shudder. “You’re in a rather unpleasant area, I’m afraid, Abarai-san. ‘Respectable' has a meaning of its own around here.”

  


“I’m sure I’ll be-”

  


Urahara cuts him off with a vigorous waving gesture that nearly knocks the soap out of Renji’s hands. “I simply can’t permit it. Please, allow me to offer you accommodation for the night. I’m sure it won’t be as much as you’re used to -” He gives a courteous little bow, wet hair flopping in his eyes - “but I have a small spare bedroom, and ample room at my dinner table. Tessai will be quite thrilled - we don’t often get the chance to entertain.”

  


There’s no real reason to turn down the offer. It’s been a while now since Renji really and truly struggled for money - honestly, the number on his paycheck just for today is bigger than what a month’s earnings would have been for him a year ago - but the part of him that’s used  to scrounging for food and shelter still holds a lot of sway. Free rooms, free meals, those aren’t things you just turn down. “Sure,” he says, and then remembers his manners and turns crimson. “I-I mean, I don’t want you to go to any trouble…”

  


“No trouble at all,” says Urahara, and stretches on slender arm up over his head so he can scrub underneath it. “Like I said, it’s not often we have guests. The pleasure of your company is the only thanks we’ll need.”

  


As it turns out, the other half of ‘we’ is a huge, towering man with a very grim set to his face and a brightly coloured apron tied around his waist. He makes no comment when Renji edges his way through the door behind Urahara, into the sedate and stylish living room of a small flat above a darkened adult shop. “I’m home, Tessai,” Urahara announces unnecessarily. “I brought a guest! This is Abarai Renji. Abarai-san - this is my better half.” Tessai smiles - or at least Renji thinks he does, behind the bushy moustache - and bustles back off to the kitchen without another word. A flurry of unseen activity and a delicious scent of grilled meat tells Renji that he’s going to be amply accommodated for the night.

  


Dinner is...awkward, but nice. Tessai doesn’t say much, which is a relief, because Urahara hasn’t given Renji any other name to go by and it seems awfully rude to address him just by his first name off the bat. Urahara has no problem finding things to talk about, mostly shallow and of little consequence, but Renji is _sure_ there’s a hidden under-layer to half of what he’s saying. That unsettling feeling of being lied to comes back stronger the more Urahara chatters on about tomorrow’s weather and his director friend’s wife’s latest affair and the trivialities of his recent dealings with one of his major suppliers.

  


"But enough about me," says Urahara at length, as Tessai is clearing the dinner plates off the table to replace them with steaming cups of tea. "I'd love to learn more about you, Abarai-san. What brought you into your current field of work?"

  


Throughout the barrage of one-sided small talk, Renji found himself slipping into a complacent daze; now he's expected to talk back, and it takes him a good several seconds to get his brain working again. He takes a slow sip of his tea to cover his confusion. "Money, I guess," he blurts - his social nicety filters haven't re-engaged yet. "I was...kinda stuck for work, you know? Jumping around from shitty job to shitty job, just scraping whatever wage I could, until my housemates suggested I could do better in porn."

  


Urahara nods politely; his expression is inscrutable. "It seems your housemates are very wise," he says. “You certainly have a knack for it. But I wonder...how do you feel about the work you’re doing now? Do you enjoy it?”

  


Renji blinks. “Yeah?” he says, long and drawn out, lingering on the word to try and give himself time to think. “I mean, it’s not easy work. There’s days when I’d rather just stay in my pyjamas and watch daytime TV and not fuck anyone. But it’s…” Rewarding is too sappy a word. Confidence-affirming might do, but Renji feels tongue-tied enough that he doesn’t trust himself to get all those syllables out in the right order. “I’ve met a lot of cool people,” he settles on. “And most days filming is a blast. I reckon it’s probably the best job I’ve ever had.”

  


There’s a thoughtful gleam in Urahara’s eyes. Approval, Renji thinks, although mostly against his better judgement - when it comes to Urahara, his people-reading skills are clearly a bit off. “A refreshing sentiment to hear,” says Urahara. “I hope it lasts you well.” A short pause follows, and Urahara’s eyes flick briefly over at Tessai before returning to meet Renji’s. “Of course, a lot of your opportunities will be here in the city,” he goes on, smiling a great, wide smile that looks like it might be aiming for apologetic - aiming, and missing wildly. “Perhaps you’re going to need accommodations here more often? Our spare bedroom is always empty.”

  


“That’s...that’s very kind of you,” says Renji, feeling more wrong-footed by the minute and with no idea how to recover his balance.

  


“Oh, no need to thank me,” says Urahara as his smile curls further towards his ears. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been finding myself quite direly short-staffed down in the shop. You can repay my hospitality by lending a hand! There’s always lots to do - shelves to be stocked, floors to be swept, all very unglamorous I’m afraid.” The smile drops so suddenly it leaves Renji with whiplash, and Urahara purses his lips. “Of course, I quite understand if you’d be more comfortable in a nearby hotel…”

  


It couldn’t be more obvious which answer Renji is expected to make. And it’s not like it’s any skin off his nose - money saved is money earned, as old Tanaka-san at the orphanage used to say. Her expensive gambling habit hardly changed the validity of her advice. “I used to stock shelves at a local supermarket,” he says now. “I’m a pretty good worker. I’ll be happy to earn my keep around here when I stay.”

  


“Then it’s settled!” The grin is back in place - Renji can’t decide if it’s unsettling or really just kind of endearing. “I must say, Abarai-san, it’s a weight off my mind to know I’ll have some help now and then. There’s only so much a poor shopkeeper like me can get done by himself.”

  


And then that’s it, apparently. Urahara switches back to small-talk so easily and seamlessly that Renji doesn’t have time to ponder that they’ve known each other less than twelve hours and that Urahara can’t _possibly_ trust him enough to offer him ongoing accommodation just on the strength of that twelve hours. His eyes are too shrewd, too worldly to be so trusting. But it doesn’t really matter, because in no time at all Urahara is rising to his feet to courteously offer Renji first use of the bath.

  


His bedroom, when Tessai shows him to it, is spacious and comfortable with a large, plush bed already made up and waiting for him. The decorations are...well, ‘eclectic’ is the best word Renji knows for it. It’s a word he learned from Yumichika during his last great overhaul of their apartment, when he bullied Renji and Ikkaku into sitting with him for hours on end leafing through home decor magazines. Renji, it rapidly emerged, wasn’t much good at interior design, so he’s not about to start passing judgement on Urahara’s choice to accent his traditional wall scroll and exotic hanging tapestry with several wobbly child’s drawings of stick-figure people and lumpy-looking dragons.

  
He sleeps surprisingly well in that room: he doesn’t wake once, doesn’t toss or turn, and the faces that flit through his dreams are cheerful and friendly and don’t resemble Byakuya at all.


End file.
